


As You Wish

by QueenKLee



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: AU after "The Climb" because they screwed up Oliver's return, Action/Adventure, Cliffhangers, Drama, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Limited Angst, Olicity because we need it, Ray Palmer and Felicity -- NOT gonna happen, Sara Lance references, Season/Series 03, Shiny new Oliver 3.0 proving he's worthy of Felicity, Slow Burn, The Princess Bride References, Villain Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-07-18 13:23:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 52,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7316941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenKLee/pseuds/QueenKLee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his duel with R'as al Ghul, a gravely-wounded Oliver is found on a snowy mountainside and airlifted to Starling City's hospital to reunite with his team. As he heals, he must come to terms with his trust issues. Written with underlying themes from The Princess Bride because "Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Inconceivable

**Author's Note:**

> This is an alternative universe, beginning immediately after "The Climb" in Season 3. There are future chapters in the works if there is interest in this story continuing. Kudos and comments are helpful and greatly appreciated! I hope you enjoy this story.
> 
> This first chapter is written from Felicity's perspective because I'm trying to stop "head-hopping" in my stories.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the weeks following Oliver's duel with R'as al Ghul, Team Arrow reels from their loss and struggles to accept that their leader will never return. Felicity succumbs to personal grief.

Bereft.

It's not a word she remembers using before, in any context, and certainly not to describe herself. But this is her new reality, this sense of desolation, of unfathomable loss, of unending sorrow.  

Oliver is gone.

Since the beginning of his mission, they assumed he would always return. Oliver faces danger every night. It is the life he chose... or maybe it had chosen him after five brutal years of battling to survive. As The Arrow, he fearlessly strides nightly into imminent peril without hesitation. But he comes back. Bruised, bleeding, limping. Fresh wounds upon old scars. They forgot he was mortal because his rock-solid strength convinced them otherwise, having beaten terrible odds time and again. Even after Sara's murder, it's inconceivable that The Arrow could be felled.

Until now. After a week with no word, the cold fist of fear clutches Felicity's heart in a relentless vise. She absorbs the growing certainty of Oliver's downfall as a trauma victim might, surrendering to shock and pain. No thing, or person, or platitude can console her.

The terrible realization that their leader’s absence may be permanent affects each of the Arrow’s team in different ways. John and Roy "suit up" nightly, as darkness falls, to fight Starling City's unending supply of big bad. They stay on track, as if nothing is amiss, as if their world -- the world Oliver built-- is not crumbling. Laurel, still reeling from her sister's death, seems numb to the possibility of another imminent tragedy. Thea, because she knows nothing of her brother’s perilous life wearing the hood, worries over Ollie's disappearance, but has no reason to suspect the worst-- that her protective big brother may have sacrificed himself to shield her from the Demon's Head, R'as al Ghul.

And then there's Felicity, his "Girl Wednesday," whose connection to Oliver is, as they say, _complicated_.  From the beginning, the electricity between them lit up The Foundry, although it would be more than two years before Oliver would give voice to his feelings, before his lips would touch hers. The bittersweet kiss. It haunts her now, shredding her with the growing realization that the unforgettable kiss – the one she had long craved – was not just their first. It was their only, their last.

For Felicity, there is no going on, no powering through, these dark days, these indefinite nights. Just as the body cannot keep moving once the heart is stilled, only she accepts that losing Oliver means Team Arrow is done. He is gone, maybe forever, and that brings the end of so many things: saving the city, fighting the good fight, conquering evil, and on a personal level, keeping her place secure in his world, at his side. Maybe in his arms and someday, his bed? Now, someday will never come.

Malcolm had cruelly pronounced that Oliver was dead, causing Felicity to respond with venom, so unlike her. He had given a name to their collective dread, barely suppressing his smug satisfaction. His evil manipulations had undone them, had forced Oliver to climb that wretched mountain to his presumed death. And accomplished what? Thea – and Malcolm – are still targets. Oliver, in the prime of his life, has been cut down, lying broken on a snow-swept cliff, lost to the world, lost to her.

Felicity holds a newfound understanding of what it means to be bereft. It has surely claimed her as its own.

**> \---->|<\----<**

Felicity's mind registers the distant sound of her phone's buzz. Again. It's the umpteenth unanswered call of the morning but she makes no move to answer it. Listless, she slouches on her sofa, paging through _Geek Monthly_ although she's seen every page twice without retaining a single detail.

The phone vibrates again and she stares in its direction as if she can silence it with her Jedi will.  The apartment's a hopeless wreck, the cluttered room reflecting her state of mind.

"I'm a hot mess," Felicity admits aloud, but is too depressed to tackle her chaotic surroundings. Nor does she have the energy to take a phone call that will require her to lie, to reassure her mom or Diggle that she's fine, or worse, to cope with Ray Palmer's latest frenzied brainstorm for rebuilding the city or testing his enigmatic secret projects.

The sound of a heavy hand rapping against her front door startles Felicity so badly that she bolts off the couch, crashing into a side table, painfully stubbing her toe as she staggers toward the offending noise. Looking through the door's peep hole reveals a large man whom she guesses to be John Diggle.

After dragging her fingers through her unkempt hair, Felicity yanks the door open. A clearly exasperated Diggle crosses her threshold, his eyes scanning the room and stalking towards the kitchen table where he snatches her neglected phone, glancing at the screen and waving it in her direction.

"Eighteen unanswered calls and forty messages," he thunders. "I decided to drive over to make sure you weren't dead."

"And good morning to you too," Felicity grumbles, clutching her fluffy Hello Kitty robe around her as if it has the power to deflect the criticism in his voice, which softens as he takes in her pitiful appearance.

Diggle approaches, stoops and raises her chin gently to see her eyes.

"Hey, how are you, sweetheart?" he asks.

It is the "sweetheart" that breaks her. God, she pleads, how can she have any more tears left to cry?

Diggle sighs and draws Felicity into the solid wall of his chest where she burrows her face, surrendering a ragged sob. His broad, warm hand pats her shoulder and Felicity wonders if this is how he soothes a fussy baby Sara. Regardless, it's comforting to be held.

Then his deep voice rumbles beneath her ear. "I have news. Good news, Felicity."

She falls away from him, telling herself, don't hope. Don't imagine. Don't long for the impossible.

"He's alive."

The words nearly rock her off her feet. For a moment, there's a loud buzzing in her head as if her vibrating cell phone has been implanted between her ears.

"What?" she gasps. "He's what??"

A reassuring smile creases Diggle's face. "It's true, Felicity. Oliver has been found. Alive."

Questions rocket through Felicity's remarkable brain. "Where? How? When?"

But fear, her constant companion in recent days, keeps her heart captive. Felicity's voice quavers as she asks, "You're certain? It's not a mistake?"

"No, it's definitely Oliver. Sherpas found him and brought him down the mountain. He's not in good shape by any means, but on his way home. ARGUS is air-lifting him directly to Starling General."

Felicity flies from the room, shedding her robe as she runs in fleece pajamas towards the hallway. Then she makes an abrupt turn and dashes back to Diggle for another tearful embrace. "Thank you, John. Thank you, God."

The next hour is a surreal blur. Throwing on clothes and shoes. Snagging her purse and phone. Racing with John to the hospital. And then realising that she has rushed at breakneck speed in order to enter the fresh new hell of more waiting.

They bounce from station to station, following the winding maze of antiseptic hallways that remind Felicity of Dorothy tripping down the yellow brick road on her way to find the wizard. Finally they reach a surgical waiting room, where they are instructed to do what else? Wait.

Oliver is concealed somewhere in the hospital, having been rushed into surgery immediately upon his arrival.

Gradually, they gather in the waiting room, Team Arrow joined by Oliver's friends and Thea -- his only surviving relative. Felicity and Diggle. Roy with Thea. Laurel and her father. Each of them swept from their daily routine into the bizarre separate universe of florescent lighting, miles of shiny linoleum and the discordant smells of disinfectant and hospital food.

At the end of the Byzantine halls, beyond the reach of the assassin's blade, behind the swinging double doors, beneath the surgeon's blade, Oliver Queen lives.

**> \---->|<\----<**


	2. Mostly Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having survived surgery, Oliver wakes up for the one who has waited for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, thank you for your kudos and comments, which give me so much encouragement and incentive to keep writing. 
> 
> My plan is to include some, but not all, plot points of Season 3. In my version, Oliver continues his personal growth toward mature relationships through consistent decisions and actions. And Felicity will be Felicity without all the tears and hand-wringing.
> 
> Last, if you're not familiar with The Princess Bride, some of the quips may not click for you. It won't be a dominant theme, but used just when it fits the story's flow.

Seven exhausting hours later, a cluster of surgeons appear in the doorway of the waiting room. At their arrival, Felicity leaps to her feet and sways into Roy, who catches and steadies her. "You okay, Blondie?" he asks, before letting go of her arm.

"Um, yeah," Felicity answers, regaining her balance. "Stood up too quickly." But the truth is she's staggered by a sudden, crippling terror that Oliver has been rescued only to die on the operating table. Grasping for composure, she draws a deep breath and briefly closes her eyes, steeling herself for whatever news the doctors bring.

Sensing her distress, Diggle moves to her side in a subtle but solid gesture of support. His eyes meet hers, checking her welfare without words. She gifts him with a shaky smile before turning her full attention to the tired trio of doctors whose demeanors give away nothing. Finally, one of them smiles and Felicity releases the breath she has been unconsciously holding.

"Mr. Queen is one lucky man. We can theorize that the frigid temperatures slowed the bleeding, but his survival is still nothing short of miraculous," the surgeon named Carter pronounces as his colleagues nod in weary agreement.

In a rush of relief, Felicity only retains bits of phrases from the doctors' litany of Oliver's injuries. "... guarded condition...ruptured spleen... concussion...cracked vertebrae... collapsed lung... broken sternum... lacerated liver..." The surgical team lays out a plan for more surgeries and a lengthy recovery. However, the serious trauma he has suffered cannot dampen Felicity's spirits at this point. Compared to the agonizing hopelessness of the past days, she knows they can tackle the challenges of his recovery. She can face anything, as long as Oliver has come back to her.

Reassured that Oliver has survived surgery, they disperse, one by one, abandoning their vigil to rest, to eat, to recharge, entrusting him to the care of Starling General. Each of his team returns to their home turf. Except for Felicity. She cannot bring herself to leave, not after so many long nights of missing him, of fearing for him. She could not give up on him when his fate was unknown. Now that he lies within reach, Felicity craves his nearness, finds comfort in the knowledge that his heart beats within the same walls as hers. And she will not depart until their skin has touched, until the weight and warmth of his hand has found hers, until she sees the life in his unfaltering blue eyes.

**> \---->|<\----<**

Pain wakes him, as it has so regularly during the past eight years. But this time, he is surprised because frankly, he didn't expect to feel any form of sensation ever again. In his last conscious thoughts on a distant snow-swept cliff, Oliver Queen accepted death, surrendering his remarkable strength, his power, his identity and his memories to the sword of R’as al Ghul. The only part of this life he held onto was her. Felicity.  She was his last thought, his last vision, the last name on his lips.  Felicity remained the one, precious strand of his being that he could not release, that he would take with him into oblivion.

"Oliver."

Her voice cuts through the darkness. It's a voice he's trained his ear to listen for in the midst of gunfire, at the height of pitched battle, in the boardroom, across The Foundry's stillness. Her words live within Oliver, guiding, warning, scolding and encouraging him. Her tendency to babble is effervescent music that he needs daily to lift his spirits along with the corners of his smile.

He hears her. Felicity has found him. But where are they?

"Oliver, wake up," she gently urges and he registers the warmth of her hand on his face.

Struggling to rise through the layers of fog, Oliver finally breaks the surface.  Slowly, his eyes open, attempting to focus in the artificial light. There's a face hovering above him. A beautiful, familiar face.

"Felicity?" he croaks, his voice rough from disuse and the breathing tube used during his prolonged surgery.

"It's me," she responds with a radiant smile and a soothing touch of his jaw. Maybe he did die and this is Heaven? Only he's certain that there's little chance of Oliver Queen spending the afterlife in paradise after the terrible things he's done.

"You didn't die and this is a hospital room. So not Heaven," Felicity patiently explains.

Had he said that aloud?

 "And if you were Jewish," she continues, "You might have to spend a year in a fiery realm to purify your soul, but since your family are Presbyterians, I'm sure there's a way to atone--"

"Felicity," he interrupts her babble. "Am I back in Starling City?"

"Yes, Oliver," she reassures him, moving her hand to grasp his. "You're home. Safe as houses. Or as safe as anyone can be in any house in this nutty town."

He's suddenly aware of the rasping dryness of his mouth and throat. "Can I have a drink of water?" he asks, becoming more lucid.

"Let me ask first," she replies with a grimace. "This place has a lot of rules. I've already gotten into trouble. Twice."

She bends over him, her silky ponytail brushing his neck while she hunts for the nurse's call button that's built-in to his hospital bed rail.

Shortly after, a nurse appears bearing a cup of ice chips. While there, she checks his vital signs, seeming pleased with his condition, an opinion which Oliver does not share.

While spoon-feeding the ice slivers, Felicity updates Oliver on his list of injuries, which are becoming painfully difficult for him to ignore. Felicity knows all of Oliver's "tells" by heart, including the grim set of his jaw and the deepening crease between his brows.

"You're hurting. Oliver, you don't have to be a tough guy here," she pronounces. “They wouldn’t let you have painkillers if you didn’t need them.  And with all of your big owies, you need them.”

"I hate being drugged," he grumps, trying to shift his muscular frame in the bed to find a more comfortable position and failing miserably.

"Don't be so hard on yourself," she advises. "You've been mostly dead all week."

Giving her the side-eye, he asks, "Isn't that a line from The Princess Bride?"

"It sorta is," she chirps with a grin.

Oliver knows her dimples are a better cure than anything an IV line could deliver.

"Now be a cooperative patient and embrace better living through chemicals," she entreats, placing the morphine control in his hand. "Please, Oliver. For me. Push the red button."

Sighing heavily, Oliver submits and presses the control, releasing the powerful narcotic into his vein.

Stretching over the rail, Felicity reaches to place a gentle kiss to his cheek, murmuring, "Goodnight, Oliver."

As the drugs hit his bloodstream, dragging him back into darkness, his face begins to soften, the lines around his eyes relaxing. "Felicity?"

"Hmmm?" she responds.

"I'm glad you're here," he mutters as he begins to drift off to sleep, reaching through the rail for her hand.

"And where else would I be?" Felicity asks softly, as she pulls her chair closer so she can keep his palm clasped against hers. She whispers, "Now rest well and dream of large women."

**> \---->|<\----<**


	3. Lies Do Not Become Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After years of deception, Oliver reveals the truth to Thea. Felicity gives Oliver a breath of fresh air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's wonderful to write for so many readers! Thank you for sharing your kudos and comments -- they mean the world to me! Best wishes for a safe and happy celebration of Independence Day!
> 
> This chapter has been like wrestling a bear, but I'm finally satisfied with it. I hope it touches you and keeps you coming back for more! Let me know what you think...

"I don't get it," Thea declares, her puzzled face a perfect portrait of confusion.

"What's that?" Oliver grunts from the hospital bed as he strains to lift weighted sandbags with his legs. He wears sweatpants and is shirtless with bandages covering his wounds.

"I don't understand how you got all these injuries in a skiing accident. Or why it took so long for you to be found? Nothing about this story makes sense to me, Ollie," she says, with undertones of an accusation.

Oliver exchanges a knowing glance with Felicity, whose head has popped up from behind her laptop. There's an entire silent conversation shared between them with a definite expression of "I told you she wouldn't buy this BS" crossing Felicity's face.

Allowing his feet to drop back down on the mattress, Oliver draws a deep breath before he surrenders to an unavoidable task.

"Thea," he begins. "We need to talk."

As if on cue, Felicity bounces from her chair, hurriedly announcing, "And I need a caffeine break among like-minded strangers." Armed with her phone, she marches between the Queen siblings, giving Oliver's toes an affectionate squeeze on the way out.

Thea crosses her arms and arches a suspicious, well-shaped eyebrow before demanding, "Okay, beloved brother of mine, spill it."

A helpless look settles on Oliver's face as he struggles to find a place to begin, and how much of the truth he can bear to shift onto the slender shoulders of his little sister. There are so many hard and terrible truths concealed from her. Now, the dilemma is deciding which secret Thea is prepared to hear: Her big brother has been hiding an alternate identity as the hooded vigilante? An evil immortal wants her dead? Her creepy new father tricked her into killing their friend Sara Lance?

Clearing his throat, he begins to unravel the web of lies. "Thea, I wasn't skiing."

"You don't say," she retorts with unveiled sarcasm.

"I was hurt in a fight with a man who threatened you," he admits, his cobalt gaze now steady on hers.

"Threatened me?" she repeats in astonishment. "What man?"

"You don't know him. His name is R'as al Ghul."

"Catchy. Rolls right off the tongue," Thea flippantly remarks.

Straining for patience, Oliver explains, "It means The Demon's Head. Malcolm owes him a blood debt, which R'as is happy to collect from you." It's only part of the truth, but Oliver can't find the words to tell his baby sister that she's a murderer, in addition to the fact that her victim was their lifelong friend.

"So, let me get this straight," Thea says, her tone growing more serious as she grasps his meaning. "You got into a fight with this demon guy--"

"It was a sword fight," he adds quietly. "To the death."

"A sword fight!" she explodes. "Ollie, what were you thinking?"

Scraping his hand through his hair, Oliver prepares for the rest of his confession. "Well, that's the other thing."

"There's more?" she shrieks, rising from her chair.

"Keep it down, Thea," he admonishes. "We're in a hospital."

Switching to a stage whisper, his theatrical sister flounces to his bedside, "You're killing me, you know."

Patting the open space on his bed, Oliver calmly says, "Thea, sit and listen. Please."

She lightly perches on the mattress next to his hip, curling her feet beneath her.

"There's things I've had to keep from you. To protect you. But you deserve to know the truth. About me."

Suddenly concerned, Thea pleads, "What, Ollie? You're scaring me."

To reassure her, Oliver reaches for her hand. "There's no easy way to say this. You know I would do anything to keep you safe."

"Dammit, Ollie. Just say what you've got to say."

It strikes Oliver that she looks just like she did when she was five, insisting that he let her play in the tree house with him and Tommy. The same fierce glint in her green eyes, a dusting of freckles across her turned-up nose, caramel-colored hair framing a pixie face that expects her needs to be instantly met. She's a 21st century version of the Queen of Hearts.

"Ollie!!" she snaps, reminding him that nothing in this life moves at a pace fast enough to suit his impetuous sister.

"Thea, I'm The Arrow."

"You're the... " she sputters. "You mean the guy in the green hood?"

Oliver nods slowly, giving her time to absorb this revelation, waiting for her temper to rise, for accusations of betrayal, for her to call him a liar. Considering his damaged condition, Oliver hopes she doesn't hit him, but he knows from experience it's a distinct possibility.  To his surprise, the anger doesn't materialize. Her expression is one of what... Wonder? Awe?

"Huh," she expels with a breath of amazement. "All this time. It was you out there. My brave, big brother."

Thea's face reveals the train of thoughts racing through her mind as she mentally replays the events of the past two years. With a sudden look of horror, she straightens and places her small hands on his chest, exclaiming, "Oh, Ollie! Mom shot you!" She scans his face with concern. "How awful for you."

Oliver pulls her into a familiar hug, tucking her head under his chin and playfully ruffling her short hair, missing the pigtails he used to tug. "I'm alright now, Speedy."

"You're in a hospital bed, you know?" she jokes weakly against his bandaged chest. "You're still miles from being alright."

He grins at her sardonic observations.

Thea's small voice rises with emotion. He can hear the tears in her throat. "Did she know? I mean... did Mom find out before..."

"She knew I was The Arrow. I told her," Oliver confesses wistfully, unconsciously patting her narrow back. "But she had already figured it out."

"Of course she had," Thea says, a rueful smile pulling at her lips. "We could never get away with anything."

She pulls back far enough to meet his eyes.  "I'm so proud of you, Ollie. Thank you for telling me."

Relief, affection and pride flood his heart at her response. Oliver was not prepared for Thea's words of acceptance. How he had underestimated his little sister. Since the sinking of the Queen's Gambit, Thea has suffered devastating loss and loneliness. It's little wonder that as a troubled teenager, she sought escape with drugs and in the arms of smooth-talking guys. Tragedy and betrayals have combined to force Thea from her former life as a shallow diva, rebuilding her values, her identity, her very home.

Oliver wraps his arms around her small shoulders in an emotional hug. "I love you, Speedy. Even if you are a high-maintenance pain in my -" She cuts off his good-natured complaining with a playful twist of his exposed nipple.

**> \---->|<\----<**

The sun is setting as Felicity returns to the hospital. She'd taken the Queens' need for alone time as an opportunity to swing by her office at Palmer Industries. As Ray Palmer's executive assistant, she has managed to keep up with her job responsibilities by working remotely from the hospital during Oliver's convalescence. But occasional face time with the boss remains necessary because she needs the paycheck. Felicity is aware Ray wants to pursue a relationship with her outside the office, however there's no point giving him encouragement. In spite of his googly eyes, Ray's a decent guy, but there is simply no electricity between them, especially when compared to the lightning sparking between Felicity and the patient in Room 246 at Starling General. As long as Felicity has unfinished business with Oliver, her heart has no room for another.

Oliver's supper tray lies untouched at the foot of his bed when Felicity slips back into his room. She gently lifts the weights from his ankles, careful not to wake him. A week after his rescue, the purple smudges beneath his eyes worry her. He's undergone two additional surgeries and, although the procedures were deemed successful, she fears he may never regain The Arrow's former physical prowess as a peerless archer and hard-bodied warrior. Oliver's agility and graceful athleticism are a critical part of his identity. It seems unimaginable that he can ever be content with anything less than a complete recovery.

She quietly smooths and straightens his bedding in hopes he will get the uninterrupted night's rest he needs. But when she glances back to his face, his keen blue eyes follow her every movement.

"Hey," he murmurs. "You came back."

"Well, I was in the neighborhood," she kids him with a sweet smile, as she lays a hand on his shoulder. "You slept through supper." Gesturing at the untouched tray of covered dishes, she offers, "Do you want to try to eat?"

Turning a bit green, Oliver just shakes his head.

"Okay, I'm going to get it out of here then because the smell of that mystery meat is about to make me yack," she informs him with an adorable wrinkle of her nose. Felicity leaves his side to grab the tray and set it in the hallway. She returns with the iced tea, inserts a straw and gives him a sip.

"Thank you," he says, adding, "You smell nice."

"Pfft, I just smell like outside," Felicity remarks, observing the wistful look on his face. The poor guy's been stuck inside cramped rooms since the first night of surgery. "Hey, you feel up to a ride?"

"God, yes. Anywhere beyond these four walls," Oliver huffs, watching intrigued as Felicity leaves again and promptly reappears with a wheelchair. With a bit of mutual struggle, Oliver transfers from the bed, Felicity hooks his IV bags to the chair, and they're off.

After a brief elevator ride to the upper floor, Felicity wheels him into an open courtyard with a view of the city by starlight. Even though it causes considerable pain through his core, Oliver draws a deep, cleansing breath of fresh air.

Kneeling at his side, Felicity searches his face in the twilight, "Better?"

"So much," he sighs. "Thank you, Felicity."

"My pleasure," she answers warmly. "I know you're more of an _al fresco_ kind of person."

Oliver expels a light chuckle. "I lived in wilderness for a long time. It took years just to get used to sleeping in a bed with a ceiling above my head. And hospitals feel like..."

"A cage," she surmises.

"A cage," he confirms. "A prison. I'm about to go stir crazy in here."

"I know," she sympathizes, lifting a gentle hand to stroke his face. "But it beats the hell out of taking a dirt nap."

His laugh in the stillness surprises her. How long has it been since she's heard Oliver's laughter?

"So, how'd it go with Thea?" she asks, moving to sit on a bench facing Oliver. She squints at him, noting, "I don't see any claw marks," while curling her fingers and raking them through the air like small talons.

"It was hard telling her the truth," he admits, dipping his face in thought. "It's never my first instinct."

"Do tell," she scoffs affectionately.

Oliver shakes his head, mildly contrite, adding, "But it's such a relief now that she knows."

"Knows what? All of it? Because what Thea didn't know would fill a freaking library," Felicity exclaims, spreading her arms wide.

"Not about Sara," he confesses softly. "I couldn't do that to her."

Felicity detects the sorrow in his voice. She reaches for his wheelchair, pulling him closer until their knees touch. "So she knows you're the Arrow? That's huge, Oliver. And she was okay with it?"

Nodding, he tells her, "She said she was proud of me."

Tears prick her eyes, knowing how important Thea's approval is to him. She squeezes his hand in response, not yet trusting her voice. His fingers spread to entwine with hers, his broad palm pressed to her little one. Still, they fit naturally together.

They rest in silence, soothed by the peaceful, open stillness of this moment beneath a canopy of stars.

"Are you tired?" she checks with concern. "Ready to go back?"

He raises their joined hands, lightly kissing her knuckles. "Can we stay a while longer?" he asks, his eyes finding hers.

"As you wish."

**> \---->|<\----<**


	4. Never Go Against A Sicilian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Felicity's help, Oliver returns to the Foundry, where they savor second chances. Diggle arrives with an uninvited guest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm springing Oliver from his hospital room with this chapter. There will be discussion of Laurel and her credibility as The Black Canary, so if you're a big Laurel fan, this may not be your cup of tea. The chapter title is drawn from The Princess Bride: "Never go against a Sicilian when death is on the line."  
> Please share your kudos and comments because they're the only rewards this labor of love will earn. :)

"God, you're heavy," Felicity groans beneath Oliver's shoulder as they slowly descend The Foundry staircase. "We should have waited for Diggle."

Gripping the rail with white knuckles, a barely-upright Oliver reaches the basement floor and staggers toward the green leather sofa, where he sprawls to catch his breath. "Oooof. Digg is getting fitted for his tux this afternoon."

Leaning against the stair rail, Felicity yelps, "Oh, wedding tuxedo! You're his best man. Do we need to deal with that too?"

"Felicity, I own a tux," he reminds her.

"Right," she remembers. "What am I thinking? The Queens don't have to rent luxury clothing. Their closets are stuffed with couture gowns and tuxes and cravats. What _is_ a cravat anyway? Is it the neck thingy? Anyway Oliver, where do you keep it all now? Without the mansion? And its fifty closets?"

"Felicity, I have a tux."

"Of course you do," she agrees. "Oliver Queen without his tux would be like Superman without his cape. And the way you rock a tux really _is_ your super power."

"Felicity." Even under The Foundry's artificial lighting, his eyes are a vivid blue and his stare presently communicates he's done discussing formal wear and closets.

"Alrighty then," she chirps, her heels clicking across the concrete floor with short skirt swaying below her shapely hips as she heads to her dedicated bank of hard drives, routers and monitors. "Let's get up to speed on the Arrow front."

After a few more minutes of rest, Oliver gingerly makes his way to her side, his eyes hungry for the familiarity of this scenario. He belongs here. With her. Doing this. Surrounded by his gym apparatus, his bow and arrows, his leathers, the trunk he brought home with him from Lian Yu. This place is Oliver's hidden reality, the home of his alter ego, a shrine to the powerful enforcer he has become, honed by years of deprivation and violence. Survival made him strong. Felicity keeps him human.

Touching the map on her screen, Felicity indicates a notorious part of The Glades, saying, "We think Brick's been holed up in this area. We've had skirmishes with his gang all week, but—"

Oliver cuts her off, asking, "Who is we?"

She pauses, hesitant to share the team's — _his_ team's — new player during his absence.

"Well, Digg and Roy on the street. Roy wears your hood because Digg can't get his ginormous biceps into the sleeves. But you shouldn't feel bad. I mean, you're big in important places too... ummm, oh no, that's not what I—"

With a smile ghosting at his lips, Oliver says, "Felicity, who else?"

 _He knows_ , Felicity realizes. He just wants her to confirm his suspicions.

"Um, there's me, of course, on coms... and there's..." her voice dwindles to nothing as if she's exhausted her allotted number of words.

"Laurel," he interjects, and she nods, verifying the truth he has already deduced. Oliver returns to his sofa and falls into it, his face sinking into his hands. Felicity follows as his shadow, sitting at his side, her hand stroking his back.

"She's been training. With that fighter, Ted something..." Felicity volunteers, trying to reassure him.

"Grant," he provides the name. "It won't be enough."

"She wants to be like her sister," Felicity offers. "Like Sara."

Oliver sighs heavily, raising his tired eyes to hers. "It's not just a matter of taking a few boxing lessons and putting on the black jacket. Sara was changed, from inside out, over the course of five grueling years. The Black Canary was created... No, _brainwashed_ by the League of Assassins. That's not Laurel. Never has been. Never can be."

"I know you're right, Oliver," she answers, leaning closer against his thighs and taking his agitated fingers in hers. She recognizes he’s missing his bow. "Everyone's tried to talk with her, but she's not listening. Maybe if you..."

"I'm the last voice she'll hear. Our history's too toxic," he admits, his thumb rubbing soft circles in her palm. "Laurel's battleground is in a courtroom. That's where she can make a real difference. But her stubborn streak is going to put her in a grave next to her sister's."

The analytical neurons in Felicity's remarkable mind begin to fire, triggered by Oliver's remark about Laurel's grave. An idea forms quickly, one more avenue they have yet to try.

Excited, she grabs his arm, "Hey! Do you trust me to help with this?"

His hands reach for her, cupping her face, his expression earnest and open, "Felicity, I thought I proved that when I crawled into your backseat that night."

Quirking an eyebrow, Felicity observes, "That sounds slightly perverted. And a lot like something I would say."

With the same steady gaze and a gentle smile, Oliver says, "I trust you, Felicity. I've always trusted you. With every part of my life."

His hands have slipped lower, cradling her neck. Felicity gets a little lost in him, her thoughts now zeroed in on the warmth of his palms, the vivid blue of his irises, the deep timbre of his voice when he says her name. His fingers caress the nape of her hair.

"Oliver?" she whispers.

"Hmmm?"

"We're not talking about Laurel anymore, are we?"

"No, we're all done with Laurel," he murmurs, as he leans in, their eyes closing for his kiss.

Weeks ago, this exquisite moment seemed as unlikely as Oliver's second return from certain death. The sheer miracle of his presence here with her, where they have learned to support, to challenge, to respect, to need each other. She'd come so close to losing him. Losing the possibility of another kiss, another chance to discover the heights and depths their hearts might reach. Yet now they've been given the priceless gift of time together, to find tomorrow in each other's arms. To taste the hope within a lover's kiss.

**> \---->|<\----<**

Nyssa al Ghul glides unseen through the darkness of The Glades. Clad in black, she lingers in the shadows behind Verdant, feeling the throbbing bass of the dance club's music vibrating in her sternum. Adjusting to the non-stop noise of city life take time and patience, neither of which she has in abundance. Although, from an assassin's standpoint, the high decibels make her missions that much easier. Her targets never suspect her nearness until her blade touches their throats. And then, it's all too late.

Nyssa doesn't expect to spill blood this night, although she's prepared to accept whatever outcome plays into her hand. Only Oliver Queen can determine the direction of this imminent drama. The arrival of his bodyguard provides her way in to cue the first act.

Her dagger poised above John Diggle's jugular allows Nyssa's entry into The Arrow's underground lair. "Make no sound," she hisses next to his ear. It's impossible to silently close the heavy security door, but they descend the stairs in relative quiet. With one hand, Nyssa secures his wrists in a zip tie, forcing him to his knees on the basement floor.

Digg's eyes dart around the space for his partners. Felicity's mini-Cooper is parked in the alley, so he's certain they're here. It's Felicity's blond hair that reveals their presence. She and Oliver are sound asleep on the small sofa tucked beneath the shadowed stairwell, her head on his chest, their fingers laced together.

"Too easy," Nyssa gloats, having caught The Arrow unawares on his own turf. Digg knows Oliver's off his game because he's fresh out of the hospital, against doctor's advice, but he doesn't want to tip off "their guest" in case she's not aware of The Arrow's weakened condition. He fervently hopes Felicity doesn't wake up in babble mode.

"Oliver Queen," Nyssa calls out, her voice eerily echoing in the cavernous space. Oliver instantly rouses and reacts, standing to block Felicity from the assassin's aim. Diggle notices that the blood has drained from Oliver's face and his medic experience tells him The Arrow is about to fall flat on his face in a dead faint. Not the best maneuver when facing a League assassin, especially the one who is the rightful heir to the Demon's Head.

"What the..." Felicity mumbles as she tries to see past Oliver's broad back. His hand reaches behind him in a halting motion, her first clue that all is not well in the workplace. Ignoring his gesture, she slowly gains her feet, stepping next to Oliver who looks none too steady. She slips her shoulder beneath his arm, helping him stay upright without telegraphing his shaky stance. In her quirky mind,  The Dread Pirate Roberts issues a warning, "Once word leaks out that a pirate has gone soft, people begin to disobey you, and then it's nothing but work, work, work all the time."

In an effort to distract the killer in their midst, Felicity says, "Nyssa, what brings you to the hood? If we'd known you were coming, we'd have baked... or ordered in. At least, put on some coffee."

Nyssa's glittering, dark eyes narrow with suspicion. Instinct informs her that this blonde is not the clueless cartoon that she seems to be at first take. Either way, Nyssa's business is with the man who survived her father's sword. His woman may prove useful at some point but not in this hour.

"Nyssa al Ghul," Oliver answers her challenge.

Felicity startles at the power behind Oliver's voice in spite of his pallor. This astounding reserve of strength is why he survived the island of Lian Yu, she thinks.

"My father, the Demon's Head, offers to forgive all blood debts owed by your sister and Al Sa-Her," Nyssa announces.

"In exchange for what?" Oliver demands to know.

"You," she answers calmly.

Felicity opens her mouth to object but is silenced by a quelling look from Oliver.

Nyssa continues, saying, "R'as al Ghul honors you, Oliver Queen, by choosing you to take his place as the Demon's Head, Lord of Nanda Parbat, Keeper of the Lazarus Pit and leader of the League of Assassins."

"I guess the title of Grand Poobah was taken," Felicity mutters under her breath.

Ignoring her quip, Oliver asks, "And what of you, Nyssa? Is it not your birthright to rule in your father's stead?"

Nyssa's tone is cold and emotionless, saying, "In his wisdom, the Demon has decreed that I will have the honor of bearing your children as your wife."

"Oh, hell no!" All eyes turn to Felicity whose blurted response has interrupted formal negotiations.

"Silence your woman," Nyssa demands coolly, her eyes now flickering between Oliver and Felicity.

"Oh, no..." Digg mutters, shaking his head, as sparks fly from Felicity's indignant eyes.

"Listen, you medieval ghoul..." Felicity sputters.

Oliver's hand turns her face to his, with an imperceptible shake of his head and an unspoken plea in his intense gaze.

Returning his full attention to the raven-haired assassin, Oliver asks, "And should I choose to reject such honor?"

“Your sister will forfeit her life, as will her father, Al Sa-Her," Nyssa decrees. The rules of her archaic world are so clear-cut. No shades of gray exist in the kingdom of Nanda Parbat.

"What if I were to help you claim your rightful inheritance as the blooded daughter of The Demon?" Oliver proposes. "If I pledge my bow in defense of the kingdom that should be yours to rule?"

Silence falls over The Foundry now that he has knocked Nyssa off-script. But his suggestion must be appealing to her on some level or she would not be allowing this pregnant pause.

"R'as al Ghul has chosen me because he has witnessed my skills as a warrior. My blade has dared to draw his blood yet his sword failed to destroy me," Oliver argues. "I'm offering you my allegiance and my arrows aimed at those who would prevent your ascendancy."

Wow, Oliver's got mad skills when talking this archaic crap, Felicity notes. But it's really hard to keep these observations from flying out of her mouth. And he must know her inward struggle because he chooses this moment to rest a heavy hand on her shoulder. At least he didn't clamp it over her lips. Although that _could_ still happen.

"And you offer your fealty in order that all blood debts be forgiven?" Nyssa counters.

"Only my sister's," he answers, voice ringing with conviction. "Al Sa-Her must answer for his own debts. They are not mine. Or hers."

Nyssa's tempted. Oliver has definitely flipped this scenario on its head and leveled the playing field. Now Nyssa faces a tough decision since her father’s ultimatum has essentially been swept from consideration.

“You suggest that I betray my father?” Nyssa asks. “He makes a powerful enemy.”

“I’ve faced his wrath,” Oliver declares. “As I suspect, have you.”

"My beloved Ta-er al-Safar spoke of your nimble mind, Oliver Queen. She called you a fierce fighter and a fiercer friend," Nyssa says, a sliver of pain in her voice over her recent loss of Sara. "I will consider your offer. Do not look for me. Or try to follow."

In one fluid motion, she draws her bow, fires a cable up the staircase and seamlessly repels herself to The Foundry entrance. With a slam of the heavy door, she is gone.

At the door's close, Oliver buckles, taking Felicity down with him.

**> \---->|<\----<**


	5. Get Used to Disappointment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity gives incentives for Oliver's recovery. Malcolm's offers of help get shot down. Team Arrow faces The Laurel Problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm back. Hope everyone enjoyed the holiday. Thank you for your comments and kudos because they keep me enthused about this endeavor like nothing else can!  
> Chapter 5 has a pretty wild mix of emotions swirling around and through Team Arrow. Let me know if you enjoy it!

"Digg, help! He's down again!" Felicity laments from the back of The Foundry.

"I can get up without help, Felicity," Oliver growls, gritting his teeth as he kneels on the concrete floor, gripping his bow in one hand, an arrow fallen from the other.

Bending at the waist with her head angled sideways, Felicity replies, "I know you can, Oliver. But we're tired of replacing your popped stitches every time you do. So—"

"He on the floor again?" Digg asks, appearing from the workbench around the corner, smelling of gun oil.

"Yup!" Felicity chirps, taking one of Oliver's elbows in both hands while Digg slides a beefy arm beneath the other.

"On three," Digg instructs. "One, two..."

In one smooth motion, they lift together and a cranky Oliver regains his feet. "You okay, man?" Diggle asks, to Oliver's chagrin.

"Fine," he gruffly answers. "Thanks," he says to Digg's retreating back.

Sensing Oliver's frustration, Felicity disappears, but quickly returns, carrying a smaller bow, which she wordlessly offers to him. At first glimpse, he frowns, grumbling, "That's the bow I bought for Thea."

"I know," she agrees, "But..." She points to the the heavy, custom bow in his hand and explains, "Yours is a one hundred and fifty pound draw while this one," indicating the bow in her grip, "Is only twenty. Considering your sternum was just put back together with wire and screws, this lighter one might not rip you in half?"

Clutching his recurve defensively, Oliver glares at the smaller one in her hands, complaining, "It's a girl's bow."

"Oliver, if I bedazzle this bow with pretty pink rhinestones, then yes, it's a girl's bow," she observes, "But for now, it's a gender-neutral lightweight recurve bow you can use until you've healed."

Felicity gathers both bows, lays them aside and steps into his personal space, slipping her hands beneath his Henley to stroke the well-defined muscles of his back and abdomen. Pressing her face into his neck, inhaling his scent, she utters a sultry whisper, "Take my word for it, Oliver. No one's ever mistaking you for a girl. But if you have any doubts, I'll let you prove it... when you're all better." She kisses his jaw lightly, gives him a saucy smile and saunters back toward her desk. Over her shoulder, she calls, "Enjoy your archery practice."

 _Damn_ , Oliver thinks, _I've gotta get well. Soon._

**> \---->|<\----<**

Malcolm Merlyn. The Dark Archer. Al Sāḥir. The Magician. Dad.

Even though she's known him all of her life, Thea Queen hasn't a clue who he is, what he stands for, whether he genuinely cares for her or if she's just another useful resource to be exploited. Through the years, she's witnessed his mercurial, self-serving behavior. Since learning he is her biological father, she's struggled to understand his motives and pondered whether he's capable of real affection for anyone except his dead wife Rebecca. And Thea is living proof Malcolm even cheated on his beloved spouse during his affair with Moira Queen. He was an absentee father to his only son, Tommy; Thea remembers the envious glances that Malcolm directed at Oliver when the boys were pals growing up together, almost as if Malcolm wished Ollie was his son, instead of Tommy.

Thea's ambivalence toward her father contrasts strongly with Oliver's opinion. Her big brother has perfect clarity when it comes to the The Dark Archer: Pure white-hot anger and mistrust. Once the dust settled following Malcolm's destruction of The Glades with The Undertaking, Oliver itemized quite an incriminating list of sins. Malcolm conspired to sink the Queen's Gambit, causing the death of Ollie's dad, and condemning Sara and Oliver to years of suffering and separation from their families. As the Dark Archer, he seriously wounded and nearly killed Oliver. His lead role in the man-made earthquakes that killed thousands should have earned him the death penalty. And would have, if he wasn't already presumed dead. Of course, the most unforgivable act was Malcolm's orchestration of Sara's murder by a drug-controlled Thea.

Oliver's understanding of Merlyn's true nature is not clouded by the fact that he’s his sister's father. For Thea's sake, he waits, knowing Malcolm is a dead man walking, whose day of reckoning might be delayed, but is inevitable. Oliver will personally bring it if someone else doesn't hold Merlyn accountable first.

So when Malcolm casually strolls into The Foundry one evening, all activity comes to an abrupt halt. Without a second thought, Oliver fires an arrow across the lair, the razor-sharp head piercing the top of Merlyn's ear. Blood immediately spouts from the cut, staining the collar of his impeccable silk dress shirt. He makes a production out of pulling a monogrammed handkerchief from his pocket to dab at the injury.

With a wicked grin, Felicity takes devilish delight in saying, "Guess what, Malcolm? Daddy's home!"

Feigning hurt feelings, Malcolm asks, "Now, Oliver, is that any way to treat an old friend who's come by to welcome you back? After all, we're practically family."

Unfazed by Merlyn's words, Oliver has a second arrow nocked and aimed.

"Besides that," Merlyn continues as he ventures forward, "It's incumbent on me to remind you I own this building, making me your landlord."

"You own bupkis," Felicity retorts. "Because you're legally dead."

"A mistaken status I'm happy to correct," Oliver declares. With ringing conviction and unmasked malice.

Merlyn chuckles as if they're all sharing the best of times, further convincing Felicity that Thea's dad is a certifiable psychopath.

"I'm sure you're familiar with the concept that the enemy of my enemy is my ally?" Malcolm proposes with a toothy smile.

"You'll never be anyone's ally, Merlyn," Oliver answers with finality.

"Oliver, you're becoming cynical as you age. But perhaps I've come at an inopportune time?" Merlyn offers apologetically.

"Yeah, I'd really recommend you wait for an invitation," Felicity drawls sarcastically. "We have your address. Oh, maybe not. Because of the dead thing."

Raising his hands in an insincere gesture of surrender, Merlyn says, "I'll be brief so you can get back to your little batcave activities."

The second arrow nicks his other ear, opening another crimson fountain. In real agitation, Malcolm's toothpaste smile slips into a snarl.

"Dammit, Oliver, I just want to talk to you about Thea. And the danger she's in. You don't have to be so prickly," he whines.

"Pricks seem to have that effect on him," Felicity dryly observes, triggering a tight smile of amusement on Oliver's face, although his eyes never leave his target.

Meanwhile Merlyn's conflicted over which ear to mop with his ruined kerchief.

"What? Not enough hankies?" Felicity asks with mock innocence.

"You're quite the comedienne, Ms. Smoak. Perhaps you should go on the road," Merlyn acidly suggests.

"Nah, I'm having a great time here," she answers with a dimpled smile and a happy twirl of her well-heeled foot.

"Well, my only purpose today is to offer my help training you, Oliver, and your sister for the League's arrival. You know they're coming for you," Merlyn warns, his charlatan smile gone.

"And whose fault is that?" Oliver answers, advancing on the intruder, his bow now clenched like a club he's considering using on Merlyn's smug face.

 "Things did not go as planned," Malcolm grouses. "It's not my fault you were felled by the Demon's sword."

Before thinking, Felicity is out of her chair and charging toward Merlyn. "You're the reason he was there," she accuses, her eyes flashing with fury.

Oliver sidesteps between them, never forgetting how dangerous the Dark Archer is beneath the platinum charm.

"We have no need of your help, Magician," Oliver flatly tells him, facing off with the intruder. "It's time for you to vanish."

The calm steel in Oliver's voice raises chills up Felicity's arms. She's usually farther removed from these types of visceral encounters, but it's impossible to miss his lethal undertones, revealing the Arrow's capacity for sudden violence. He's fully prepared to take Merlyn's life in this moment. Oliver's a dangerous man in his own right. It's understandable that she sometimes forgets his fierceness as he is unfailingly kind and gentle with her. But Malcolm recognizes his vulnerable position and shrewdly decides to live to fight another day, stepping back toward the stairway.

Once the security door has clanged shut behind Malcolm,  the tension in the Foundry dissipates.

"Is it just me or does he remind you of The Cheshire Cat?" Felicity asks, staring at the empty place where Malcolm stood. "Because I can always see his evil grin ten minutes after he's left."

Oliver lowers Thea's bow and returns it to storage. "You were right," he says over his shoulder. "A girl's bow works just fine."

**> \---->|<\----<**

"So Laurel's laid up in a hospital bed," Diggle announces the next evening as he hangs up his jacket in The Foundry.

"What happened?" Oliver asks, stopping mid-stretch on the workout mat.

"Exactly what we all predicted," Digg says, leaning against a pillar facing Oliver and Felicity, who has swiveled away from her monitors. "The Canary got in over her head. Took on some of Brick's gang."

"How bad is she?" Felicity asks, wincing in sympathy.

"A few cracked ribs, sprained wrist, lots of bruises," Digg lists.

"She was lucky," Oliver comments, shaking his head. "I don't know how to get through to her."

"Ummm, about that," Felicity begins, "I've been talking to my friend, Barry. You know, in Central City?"

"We know," Oliver grouses. "I don't see what this has to do with him."

"Oliver," she says sharply, her eyes locking with his, "You said you trusted me to help with this situation. Has that changed?"

"Well, no," he assures her, somewhat contrite. "So, you talked with Barry..."

She nods, returning to her news, "You know Barry has had some recent experiences with time shifting. So, on a hunch, I asked him to visit Sara's grave. Ten years from now. In 2025."

"Why, Felicity?" Oliver asks, puzzled by her explanation.

"Are you sure you want to know?" she asks, her expression somber.

Oliver exchanges a questioning look with Digg, who shrugs. "Will it help Laurel?" Oliver asks her.

Felicity's eyes fill with tears as she replies, "I wish I knew."

She pulls her cell phone from her purse, scrolls through images on its screen and hands it to Oliver. As he takes it, he slips a comforting arm around her before looking at the small screen.

Barry's photo focuses on two granite headstones, side by side. Oliver recognizes Sara's familiar marker that was originally laid in 2007, when she and Oliver were presumed drowned at sea. His heart sinks as he reads the name on the adjacent twin monument:

**DINAH LAUREL LANCE**

**1985-2016**

**THE BLACK CANARY**

**> \---->|<\----<**


	6. Mawwiage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team Arrow enlists help to resolve "The Laurel Problem." Felicity ponders her choices concerning Oliver while they celebrate Diggle's & Lyla's wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so grateful for your subscriptions, comments and kudos. Please feed my addiction and keep them coming!  
> This chapter is more lighthearted and action-free since it's centered around a wedding (although those can sometimes turn dramatic too). If it's been awhile since you've seen The Princess Bride, you may want to watch the wedding clip featuring The Impressive Clergyman so you'll understand the dialogue.

"So... Now we know. How can we stop it from happening?"

Digg's question hangs above them like Damocles' sword. It's been a torturous, emotional hour since Felicity shared Barry's photo of Laurel's grave. It was one thing to talk about their friend's dangerous delusions of becoming The Black Canary, but it's entirely something else when her grim fate is literally carved in stone.

"We don't know for certain that she... that she dies as Black Canary," Oliver reasons, a deep crease settled between his brows. "It could be from illness or a car wreck."

"Black Canary is engraved on her freaking headstone, Oliver," Felicity points out. "I think that's a strong indication."

Oliver sighs, scraping his hand over his face in frustration.

"Even if we somehow convinced Laurel to give up this crusade of her sister's, do we have any way of knowing whether the future can be changed?" Diggle asks, pacing the Foundry floor.

"I asked Barry the same question," Felicity explains, causing Oliver to look up, hanging on her answer. "But he can’t say. It's not like time shifting is an exact science. There are just too many variables involved."

"But we know what happens if we do nothing," Oliver concludes with finality. "So, how do we get Laurel's attention?"

"The same way Barry got ours?" Felicity suggests, staring at the heartbreaking image of the Lance sisters' tandem graves.

Late that night, The Flash visits Room 105 of Starling General Hospital for a critical conversation with Laurel. Without sugar-coating his reasons, he reveals the photograph foretelling her doom if she continues to tempt fate as a masked vigilante. But beyond the motivation of fear, he gives Laurel a secret reason to live a long full life: The grave next to hers is empty.

**> \---->|<\----<**

"Mawwiage..."

"Oh, no..." Oliver groans, instantly knowing where Felicity's brain — and mouth — are headed.

"Mawwiage is what bwings us togethah today," she gleefully intones in her best impression of The Impressive Clergyman.

"You've got to stop," Oliver begs, rolling his eyes as he guides her into the church vestibule, his hand at the small of her back.

"But it's my favorite quote from my favorite movie," she defends herself.

"No, because you have _fifty_ favorite quotes from The Princess Bride," he remarks as he's waylaid by a florist who pins a boutonniere to his tux lapel.

"Inconceivable," she giggles happily, her eyes shining.

"Have you been in the champagne?" he wonders aloud as the florist gives him a sympathetic pat before scurrying away.

Felicity unboxes the ivory guest book and pen, arranging them on a side table already decorated with a small bouquet.

"Oliver, you know I've never required champagne to have fun," she says with a dimpled smile while straightening a lace tablecloth to her satisfaction. "And hey, best man, where's your groom? Don't you have important duties, like.... huh, I have no idea what a best man does before the wedding."

"Well, in my past experiences, it's been about helping the groom recover from a world-class hangover,” Oliver confesses. “But since I've never seen Digg drunk—"

"And you never will," Diggle declares calmly as he enters the church.

"Oh, John, you look so handsome," Felicity beams as she walks into his hug. "This is such a happy day."

"I think so. Thank you, Felicity," Digg replies as he turns to shake hands with his best man, who claps the groom on the back.

"So where do you need me?" Oliver asks, looking around for assignments.

"Yeah, put him to work doing all his besting duties," Felicity suggests with enthusiasm.

In an aside to Oliver, Digg confesses, "I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing, much less you."

"Haven't you done this before? With the same bride?" Oliver reminds him with a grin.

"Yeah, but I was really hungover," Diggle admits sheepishly, causing Felicity to erupt in a fit of laughter.

"Oh well, that I could have helped with," Oliver volunteers with a quirk of his eyebrow.

More wedding party members, family and guests begin to arrive for the casual ceremony which will reunite John Diggle and Lyla Michaels as husband and wife. Their little daughter, Sara, babbles adorably through the exchange of vows as if she's adding her two cents' worth on this important family decision. However, after the blessing of the wedding rings, the toddler expresses her opinion that it's past time for a bottle and a nap. Loudly.

Felicity holds out her hands to the fussy baby, who leaps into familiar arms that have offered rescue on previous occasions. The bride and groom mouth their silent thanks before resuming their nuptials. Felicity snags the diaper bag at the end of a pew on her way out in search of the church nursery.

Sara snuggles her head into the space between Felicity's shoulder and neck while affectionately patting her chubby hand on her godmother's chest, cooing, "Fissidy."

"Yes, your Fissidy knows when it's time to leave the party. But you did so good today, Peaches. And just look how pretty you are in your fancy dress," Felicity says, as she makes an exaggerated dip and twirl on their way down a wide hall. Recognizing the nursery, she makes a beeline for the changing table. A sweet caregiver appears, offering to take over, but Felicity prefers to settle Sara down herself. She welcomes a quiet interlude to rock her goddaughter while sorting out her thoughts.

Weddings can be a minefield for a single woman, especially when accompanied by a tall, dark and perplexing man like Oliver. Additionally, the events of the past month have stretched her emotions to and, at times, beyond the breaking point. When the Demon's sword was thrust into Oliver's chest, the near loss of him left a similar searing wound in Felicity's heart. Nightmares of Oliver dying continue to haunt her in sleep. She wakes breathless, fear clawing her heart and her arms reaching for him in the darkness. He's never there, just cold, empty sheets mocking her struggle to separate terror from reality.

Before Oliver left her to face R'as al Ghul, Felicity had spurned him. Because of his dangling "maybes". Because of his erratic choices. Because she was weary of heartache. But then Felicity learned a new level of pain in the wake of his possible death. The inescapable image of Oliver's beautiful eyes open and unseeing. His blood senselessly spilled and frozen in scarlet pools. His voice silenced, never to wrap her name in velvet tones again. And _her_ Oliver, who'd confessed his love for her, who'd protected and shielded her, who'd trusted her with his deepest secrets, had been felled, perhaps to never rise again. Compared to the hurt of “maybe,” “never” was sheer agony.

So what does his miraculous return mean for them? For her? They're taking baby steps back toward each other, resuming their little touches, settling into their familiar groove. But there are words — weighty, meaningful ones — yet to be spoken. Instincts tell her to wait, to give one another the grace of time. It would be a mistake to force this connection between them to deepen too soon. And in a way, Felicity savors each moment with him. Funny how the specter of death changes your appreciation for the people in your life, even the ones who drive you batshit crazy.

Baby Sara sleeps soundly in her arms and Felicity relishes the sweet burden of this precious, beautiful child, who brings such a renewal of hope to those who love her. Felicity gently strokes Sara's downy hair, grateful for this sweet, new life that teaches a remarkable lesson in joy for people who must daily contend with purveyors of darkness.

"Hey."

Oliver's soft voice pulls her attention to the doorway that he fills, looking like a glossy glamour ad for Armani tuxedos.

She waves at him silently and lifts the snoozing toddler to her shoulder before standing. Oliver steps to Felicity's side, holding her elbow to steady her as she rises, both arms full of Sara. She walks to a nearby crib and sways for a moment to keep Sara from waking before carefully laying her in the baby bed, draping a cozy blanket over the tiny girl. Felicity smiles and tenders care to the nursery attendant before joining Oliver who has retreated to the hallway.

"Hi," she greets him as they begin sauntering side-by-side towards the reception hall. "Everything going okay?"

"They're about to cut the wedding cake," he tells her.

"Oh, cake!" she squeals, clasping her hands together in rapture. "That's the best part."

"So you've told me," he replies. "That's why I came to get you."

"Okay. What have I missed?" she questions in a conspiratorial tone, leaning closer to him and grabbing his forearm.

"Let’s see," he thinks out loud. "Diggle cried at the end."

"Awww. He's such a cupcake," she enthuses. "And..."

"And Thea and Roy aren't speaking."

"No!" she reacts dramatically. "What is it this time?"

"That's all I know," he replies in a nonplussed guy way. "Am I supposed to know why?"

"Yes, Oliver, you're absolutely supposed to have all the gory details. You make a terrible girlfriend," she teases.

Oliver abruptly stops, sweeps her into his arms, and leans in as if a kiss is imminent. Instead, his teasing grin inches from her lips, he whispers seductively, "That difference could turn out to be one of your favorite things about me." Oliver's powerful frame dwarfs her, his breath warm against her cheek, his cologne intoxicating her senses. Just as suddenly, he releases his hold and rights her as she was, but his hand claims hers as they resume walking.

As Felicity recovers from his seductive gambit, Oliver continues the conversation as if he didn't just melt her panties. "And the best man delivered an awesome speech that brought laughter and tears."

Regaining her composure, Felicity asks, "Was it something like this? Mawwiage, that bwessed awwangement..."

"Please, no," he protests, despite his charmed expression as he looks down at her.

"That dweam within a dweam," she continues, now swinging their joined arms as they stroll. "And wove, twue wove..."

"I'm begging you," he pleads with a lighthearted chuckle as she releases his hand and happily scampers ahead of him, calling over her shoulder.

"Wiww fowwow you fowevah and evah."

**> \---->|<\----<**


	7. The Promise of A Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laurel finds strength in surrendering a debt. Oliver improvises while training Thea, then breaks her heart. The archer and the amazon forge an alliance against bad fathers. Oliver sends a midnight text.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a chapter devoted, oddly enough, to four women in Oliver's life: Laurel, Thea, Nyssa al Ghul and Felicity.
> 
> The chapter title, like all the others, is from The Princess Bride:  
> Buttercup: If you'll release me ... whatever you ask for ransom, you'll get it, I promise you...  
> Man in Black: And what is that worth, the promise of a woman? You're very funny, Highness.
> 
> Please leave your kudos and reviews if you're enjoying this story and would like to see more chapters.

Laurel clings to Sara's supple, black leather jacket one last time, remembering her sister as she was, bigger than life, clad in her vulnerable suit of armor against dark forces. In a few places, the leather is worn, stretched with time and use to mold to Sara's petite form. Now, it's as if she holds her sister's shadow, while she parses the meaning of The Flash’s cryptic words.

The image of her own name carved in granite was jarring enough, but his message about the empty grave, where Sara now lies, fills her with an unnerving mix of chills, astonishment and hope. The promise of seeing Sara alive again, perhaps within a year's time, forces Laurel to swallow her pride and admit that her friends’ concern may be valid in begging her to abandon her crusade as the Black Canary. When she decided to assume Sara's vigilante role, Laurel felt compelled, as if it was a debt she owed, a way of keeping Sara's memory alive. But now, that weight has been lifted from her shoulders. Now she owes it to her sister to stay alive until Sara's eventual return.

And so, she lays to rest the last vestige of The Black Canary until she rises to stand for justice again. Laurel has her own battles to wage, relying on the legal weaponry she has mastered during the past decade. She might not be a badass in the streets, but Laurel rightly owns her courtroom nickname: "The Executioner".

**> \---->|<\----<**

"Again!" Oliver demands, his unyielding voice echoing across the empty Foundry.

"Really, Ollie?" Thea rebels in exhaustion. "I've fired a hundred arrows. When can we take a break?"

In frustration, Oliver grabs his heavy custom bow, strapping a full quiver to his back. "When you can do this," he tersely replies, pulling a lever to release loose tennis balls from above. Before she can blink, her brother has emptied his quiver, skewering six yellow balls to the practice backboard.

Amazed at her brother's speed and accuracy, Thea's mouth falls open, her eyes flaring in surprise. "Who are you?" she gasps, her head pivoting from the arrow-studded wall to Oliver, who calmly unbuckles his empty quiver and stows his bow in its case.

"Ollie, I'll never be able to do _that_ ," she exclaims, wildly gesturing at the far wall.

"Has anyone ever called you a drama Queen?" he asks dryly, arching a brow.

"Ha ha," she huffs, curling into a familiar pout. "I heard that every day of junior high."

Oliver's steady gaze focuses on his little sister while deep in thought. Thea's not an amateur archer, as proven by her proficiency dispatching Sara, he recalls with regret. But he observes holes in the training she's received from Malcolm. Thea requires confidence and the inner stillness needed to hit a target, on the run, especially from a distance. But this current regimen is obviously not working for either of them. Then it hits him: This is his baby sister, the little tomboy who squealed with glee, hanging upside-down from a tire swing over their pond. Who broke her arm trying to prove she could climb higher than him. Who ran headlong into trouble if it meant keeping up with her older brother. He just needs to disguise training as a fun contest.

"Speedy," he begins, using her nickname from childhood. "Wanna play a game of poker?"

Her face lights up with enthusiasm. "Sure! Anything's better than this."

"Great," he says. "Bring your bow."

Thea sputters as Oliver gathers their archery equipment and leads her to the stairs just as Felicity arrives. Climbing the steps with his sister in tow, Oliver says, "Hey, we're going to play cards."

"Okay," Felicity answers, continuing down. "Have fun!"

He pauses, reaches out to pull Felicity's hand and raises an eyebrow.

"Oh!" Felicity reacts in understanding. "Apparently I'm part of we." She reverses gears and changes direction, her hand still firmly held in his.

**> \---->|<\----<**

It's a beautiful fall day, sun shining through the autumn foliage of the woods just north of the city. Oliver pins the last face card to a tree's bark before returning to where Thea and Felicity stand.

"Okay, standard rules for poker. We each get six chances. The cards your arrows hit make up your hand," he explains, assisting his sister with her armguard.

With each arrow fired, Oliver adjusts Thea's stance, grip and aim while teasing and laughing with her. He wins the first round, his signature green arrows nailing four aces. But as they continue the game, Thea relaxes and her results improve with Felicity cheering her on. Thea manages to bust his royal flush by hitting the queen of hearts with her scarlet arrow, closing the final round in a draw.

As the trio strolls back to the SUV through the fallen leaves, Thea takes a cell phone call from Roy, challenging him to a round of poker. Meanwhile, Felicity falls into step beside Oliver, murmuring, "Very clever, Mr. Queen," and cutting her eyes up to his.

"I just remembered," he admits in a quiet voice, out of Thea's earshot. "Thea and I learned a lot through the games we used to play. And we were always outside, from morning 'til dark. I'm having to learn again how to be her brother."

Felicity returns his casual smile, delighting in the peace of his relaxed, unlined face, as his mind wanders back to happier times. Oliver has so few good memories. Felicity is thankful that he insisted she accompany them as the long-separated siblings reconnect to make a new memory, a rare pleasant moment in the here and now.

And somehow, her hand has found its way into his.

**> \---->|<\----<**

A wraith in black and scarlet robes, Nyssa al Ghul crouches on the balcony of the Queen loft, waiting for the siblings' return from the streets of the Glades. The news she bears will impact Thea as much, if not more than, her brother because it relates to Al Sa-Her, known in Starling City as Malcolm Merlyn. And any developments involving _The Magician_ are bound to bring grief.

The Demon's daughter knows well how to wait with bad news.

It's well past midnight before they arrive home to be met by Nyssa emerging silently from the shadows. Oliver pulls Thea behind him, noting that their intruder's hands are free of weapons although he knows the assassin is never unarmed.

"What the hell?" Thea demands as she struggles to bypass Oliver. "Who do you think—"

"Thea!" Oliver yells in a stern manner rarely heard by his sister, who disappears from Nyssa's eyeline as he blocks her again.

"I am not here to fight, Oliver Queen," Nyssa declares. "I apologize for invading your Great Hall."

"Our what?" Thea repeats in confusion.

"I come to share news from The Demon's realm," Nyssa continues.

"Thea, go upstairs," Oliver orders quietly over his shoulder.

"Your sister should stay," Nyssa says. "For this concerns Al Sa-Her, her father."

Thea pushes past her brother, who gives up and lets her past him. "What about my father?" Thea asks with a hint of belligerence.

Nyssa steps closer, her features becoming more visible in the open. "Al Sa-Her has returned to Nanda Parbat to serve at The Demon's pleasure."

"That's a lie," Thea spits in anger as Oliver overrides her accusation with a question, "What of the blood debt owed by Merlyn? Has R'as forgiven Malcolm's betrayal?"

"The traitor has sworn he will deliver you, Oliver Queen, to my father in exchange for atonement," Nyssa reveals, her expression flat in contrast to her dark eyes, glinting with anger.

"But why?" Thea asks, perplexed. "Even if this is true, Oliver already fought him and paid a terrible price. My brother nearly died protecting me."

"Thea," Oliver begins, "R'as doesn't want to fight me. He wants me to take his place. As The Demon's Head."

"What?" Thea gasps as if all the air has been knocked from her chest. She searches her brother's face, recognizing the sorrow in his eyes. "But Ollie," she pleads tearfully. "No, you can't. We just got you back."

Oliver hears the disbelief and fear in his sister's voice, hating what other secrets this discussion might reveal. He wants to comfort her, but dares not divert his attention from Nyssa. He settles for a side hug, leaving his arm draped across her slender frame. Shaken, Thea leans into him for support.

"And what is the position of The Demon's heir? Now that your father has cheapened your legacy? Are you willing to surrender your sword in order to bear my children?" Oliver bluntly asks Nyssa, who has been watching the Queen siblings' interaction with veiled interest.

Thea is so shocked by the bizarre turn in conversation, she is stricken speechless.

"Although I've no doubt of your skills in husbandry," Nyssa affirms with a slight smirk, "My life is destined for greater roles."

"I offered you my allegiance before. That promise of my loyalty and my sword is yours to claim, Nyssa," Oliver pledges, his gaze fastened on the assassin's.

"I am prepared to accept your fealty," Nyssa vows before adding, "But being my ally will pit you, and your sister, against her father, Al Sa-Her. Are you prepared to defy him and his liege, R'as al Ghul?"

"No, wait!" Thea objects, staring between them, incredulous. "Malcolm would not betray Oliver. He wouldn't do that to me."

As regret overwhelms Oliver, he faces a dreaded moment. He is about to break his sister's tender heart. But first, he must shield her from Nyssa’s sworn vengeance.

"Nyssa, if you would have my blade in your service, there's a pledge I will require of you," he says, steel in his tone.

Dark eyes narrowing, Nyssa replies, "I am listening."

"My sister's life is guaranteed to be sacrosanct regardless of what I am about to reveal," Oliver demands, ignoring Thea's bewildered expression.

Nyssa pauses, trying to conjure what secret would imperil his sister. At length, she nods.

Upon Nyssa's assurance, Oliver turns full attention to Thea, who scans his face for the unspoken meaning behind this drama.

"Thea, Malcolm has already betrayed you and placed you in terrible danger in order to save himself," he begins before Thea cuts him off.

"He says he loves me, Ollie," she argues pitifully.

"Just listen to me," Oliver pleads. "Please."

Relenting, Thea's lips press together in a straight line as if they're zipped.

"Malcolm gave you a drug that caused you to surrender control to him while preventing you from remembering your actions," he relates.

With an exaggerated eye roll, Thea counters by asking, "And what terrible act did my father force me do?"

With a quick glance at Nyssa, Oliver pulls a deep breath before saying, "You killed Sara."

Shock and disbelief cross Thea's lovely features before they crumple in acceptance of this horrifying revelation. Suppressed, graphic images of Sara's arrow-riddled chest slam into her brain, causing exquisite pain and grief.

"Oh, God, Ollie," she chokes on her words. "But I never would have... I loved Sara. She was like a sister to me."

"I know," he murmurs as Thea collapses into his chest, her fingers knotting in his sweatshirt as if he's the only tether keeping her from the cruel abyss that has opened beneath her.

Oliver is torn by Thea's need for comfort and the danger posed by Nyssa upon learning his sister murdered her beloved Sara. But when he looks to the swordswoman, her eyes are cast down, as if embarrassed by Thea's naked despair.

"I'm so sorry," Thea cries against his breast as he gathers her closer, wanting to lift this anguish from her yet not knowing how.

"I know your pain, Thea Queen," Nyssa says softly, in a rare offering of solace. "We share similar misfortune as daughters of evil men."

Oliver gains fresh insight regarding Nyssa al Ghul. If he has to throw in with a member of The League of Assassins, he suspects he could do worse than the woman standing before him.

"Oliver Queen, we have an accord?" Nyssa's voice is strong and clear, easily heard above his sister's muted sobs. His gaze engages hers, cobalt blue linked with obsidian. The archer and the amazon.

"We are in accord," Oliver pledges, his face stony but for the flames lighting his eyes.

"And so it begins," Nyssa vows. "We go to war."

**> \---->|<\----<**

Felicity wakes from the depths of dreamless sleep, fumbling in the bed to stop the annoying sound of her chiming phone.

“A text,” she mumbles with fatigue as she hunts for the glowing square of aggravation. She finds it wrapped in the sheet, fretting, “I don’t text at…” She glances at the time on the phone screen. “Two forty-six. I don’t do anything at that hour. Unfortunately…”

Scraping wild bed hair out of her face, she opens her list of messages to see the offending text is from Oliver. “This better be good, big guy. Or you’re going to explain why you keep me up all night… Oh… I even talk like a perve when he’s not around.”

She presses on his name and reads: _Can you come? I need you. In my bedroom._

Felicity drops her phone.

**> \---->|<\----<**

The loft is unlocked when Felicity arrives. Assuming that Thea is asleep, she skips knocking and quietly slips inside the front room, then climbs the stairs to Oliver’s room, where the door is partly open. Taking a few steps into the bedroom, she stops, allowing her eyes to adjust to the subdued light from the open window. Then she hears him, rising from the mattress, coming toward her and pulling her into him. He’s wearing sleep pants and a thin V-neck shirt that smells like a heady blend of leather and cologne and Oliver. His fingers thread underneath her hair at the back of her head, guiding her face to nestle into his neck while his other arm wraps snugly across her back. His head lowers, as if he’s breathing her in, savoring her presence in his arms.

Maybe it’s due to the lateness of the hour. Or the nearness of his sleeping sister across the hall. Perhaps it’s the intimate darkness of the room. Or Felicity instinctively sensing he doesn’t need words getting between them in this moment. But there’s an entire conversation being shared through warm breath on tender skin, strong arms encircling shapely curves, silken hair grazing hard muscle.

Something has happened in the hours since they parted. Felicity knows this in the marrow of her bones, just as she is certain he needs to be vulnerable with her in this moment, alone in the darkness, so he can find the strength to face tomorrow.

**> \---->|<\----<**


	8. Princess Buttercup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcomb and R'as commit their first act of war against Team Arrow. Oliver and Thea prepare for a perilous rescue mission that will take them to one of his old haunts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will help realign my story with key events of Season 3 in what I hope is a more pleasing and logical plot. With war coming to their doorstep, the heroes and villains are pretty-much sorted and ready to wage battle. The Princess Bride references in this chapter should be familiar to any fan of the film.
> 
> Your comments and kudos keep me inspired to continue. I hope you enjoy the latest post!

He'd held her until morning, eventually migrating to the bed, where she'd lain comfortably in his embrace. It was not about passion. Not on this night. Felicity deserved better than a booty call in the wee hours of the morning. Understandably, his sister's reaction to her own culpability in Sara's death had been intense and exhausting. After being Thea's soundboard, comforter and confidante,  Oliver had felt overwhelmed, bone-weary and utterly alone. Usually, he accepted hard, bitter nights as his reality to bear, but he'd given in to his longing for the one who would listen, would care, would understand. He'd reached out to Felicity and, without question, she'd come to him in complete trust. In the quiet stillness of his darkened room, she'd intuitively known and accepted his basic need for her presence and to be allowed to lean in to her for a few unguarded hours.

Toward dawn, Oliver had begun to unburden his troubled mind, telling Felicity about the past night's events. In hushed tones, his words drifted across her forehead, confided in sighs and whispers as he recounted Nyssa's visit, Malcolm's betrayal, how he'd shattered his sister with the final truth. With his fingers threaded in her hair, he agonized while talking of the coming war, faced by their people, against two powerful, malicious men and their League of Assassins.

At some point, Felicity had drifted to sleep, secure in his arms, his steady heartbeat in time with hers. In the coming days, she and Oliver will revisit this last night together, remembering the precious interlude they shared in the comfort of home, in each other's sheltering protection, when the world made sense. Before war began, seizing Felicity as its first casualty.

**> \---->|<\----<**

Oliver falls from the top rung of the salmon ladder, cussing a blue streak as his mouth fills with blood after his chin clips one of the lower bars on the way down.  He crouches on the exercise mat, counting his teeth and carefully opening his mouth to check the soundness of his jaw. Reassured that no bones are broken, Oliver wearily heads toward the bathroom to rinse the blood from his face, but is interrupted by the buzzing of his phone. Due to his complicated love/hate relationship with cell phones, he's tempted to ignore it, but relents with a sigh and palms it.

"Ray Palmer?" he mutters to himself with distaste before pressing the screen. "This is Oliver," he answers.

"Sorry to bother you, Oliver. This is Ray Palmer. At Palmer Tech," he adds, needlessly.

"Yeah, Ray. What can I do for you?" Oliver says, trying to mask his impatience.

"Um, I was just checking on Felicity," Palmer explains. "I mean, it's fine she took a day away from this nut hut. I just wanted to make sure she wasn't ill."

Oliver's stomach twists in a small knot of fear. "You haven't seen Felicity this afternoon?" he asks gruffly.

"No, well actually, she didn't come in this morning either," Palmer drones on. "It isn't like her to not call. But we've been working such crazy hours—"

Rattled, Oliver disconnects the call, mind racing through his last conversation with Felicity. Had her plans changed without telling him? They'd had little sleep last night so maybe she'd taken a personal day? Would she have stayed home without phoning someone? He tries her cell, but the call goes straight to her voice mail.

Swallowing his panic, he punches in Digg's number. "John, have you heard from Felicity today?"

"No, not since last night, man. Something wrong?"

"Meet me at her apartment," Oliver orders, at a dead run shedding his workout clothes with every step.

**> \---->|<\----<**

As he rips through The Glades on his Ducati, Oliver replays the time shared with Felicity this morning. He'd prepared breakfast for her and Thea, who was surprisingly complaisant about his guest's unexplained presence in their kitchen at sunrise, although his kid sister had flashed a perky "thumbs up" when Felicity's back was turned.

After demolishing an impressive stack of pancakes, Thea had gone back to bed, following her normal routine as manager of a nightclub. After Oliver convinced Felicity he could manage the breakfast clean-up, she had pulled on her jacket and slung her purse over one shoulder, announcing, "I'm running by my place to get ready for work. I'm already ridiculously late."

"I'm sorry," he'd said, tucking a strand of her loose hair behind her ear. "Would you like me to write you a note?"

Felicity had laughed, adding, "Oh, Ray doesn't notice tardiness because he never knows what time it is. Which can be a good and bad thing."

Oliver had tugged her closer, sliding his hand under her collar to settle along the side of her neck, his fingers stroking the downy nape of her hairline.

"Felicity, thank you," he had murmured, leaning his face down to meet hers.

"Don't kiss me," she had warned in complete, horrified sincerity. "I have coffee and maple syrup breath."

With a ghost of a smile, Oliver had whispered against her lips, "Felicity, I don't care."

He could still taste the kiss they'd shared, her mouth soft and sweet pressed against his, parting slightly to allow him to gently pull her lucious, full lower lip between his. The exquisite moment had been a tender expression of trust, of contentment, of knowing what it is to be cherished.

**> \---->|<\----<**

Coming in hot, Diggle brakes roughly at the curb while Oliver's unstrapping his helmet. They grimly acknowledge one another before mounting the stairs to Felicity's third floor apartment. Charging ahead, Oliver halts at her door which hangs open several inches. He exchanges a loaded glance with Diggle, who pulls and raises his Glock, moving at a right angle beside his partner. Oliver cautiously pushes the wooden door open.

Seeing nothing amiss, he steps inside Felicity's home, so uniquely decorated to reflect her personality, underscores her absence, causing a sudden, wicked stab of pain in Oliver's chest. He gestures for Digg to follow. Silently, communicating with hand signals, they search the small empty apartment, arriving in her bedroom where their worst fears are confirmed. The blood drains from Oliver's face, stricken by the sight of the ghastly mask of Deathstroke, spiked to Felicity's bed by Malcolm Merlyn's signature black arrow shot through the empty eye.

**> \---->|<\----<**

"Ray Palmer here."

"Palmer, this is Oliver Queen. I need a Sat phone and private transportation to the North China Sea," Oliver says. Sounding brusque, yet not caring.

"Um, Oliver..." Palmer stammers awkwardly. "I'm assuming this concerns Felicity?"

"Yes."

"Then, whatever you need, it's yours. Including a blank check," Palmer offers.

"We'll be at your airstrip in an hour. Tell no one."

**> \---->|<\----<**

For the next hectic sixty minutes, Oliver moves efficiently on autopilot, not allowing himself the luxury of feeling, relying on years of self-discipline to crush the waves of paralyzing terror that threaten to swamp him. They're embarking on a five thousand-mile journey so he'll have ample time to be tortured by Felicity's abduction once they're airborne. He'd wasted precious minutes arguing against Thea's intention to accompany him to Lian Yu. But, in iron-willed Queen fashion, she'd simply refused to let him leave her to face danger alone. Not now that she knew the high stakes.

Lasering his attention on tactical concerns, Oliver rejects Digg's and Roy's offers of backup, concerned that Felicity's kidnapping is a diversionary tactic to leave the city unprotected. He hurriedly updates them on their new alliance with Nyssa as well as Malcolm's bargain with R'as. Digg promises that Lyla will rely on her remaining connections with ARGUS to find out if the prison on Lian Yu has been compromised. Because Oliver suspects R'as and Malcolm are targeting his team, Oliver wants Digg left here to guard his wife and daughter. At least, Thea will be under his own wing, even if the brother-sister duo may well be flying into a trap. But, as he told a regretful Felicity long ago, he's in a situation where there's no choice to make.

Recognizing her brother's anguish, Thea solemnly follows his lead as she packs her passport, warm clothing, medical supplies and the weapons her father provided for her training. The self-same father who is the agent of the nightmare engulfing them.  She's suppressing a fear of the forbidding island that harbors such horrific memories for her brother. Thea realizes Oliver has withheld his stories of the suffering he endured as a castaway, but the scars on his body tell of violence that can't be sanitized or censored. And it's where Oliver buried the remains of Robert Queen, the man she adored as her father until Malcolm Merlyn uprooted her branch of the family tree.

Palmer's Gulfstream jet cruises across the dark waters of the Pacific, devouring the miles between Seattle and Lian Yu. Arrangements have been made for Palmer's corporate helicopter to meet them in Seoul for the last leg of the journey. The desperate hours in flight are sheer torment for Oliver, imagining Felicity being touched, being taken, being... Oliver grapples with his runaway thoughts, trying not to visualize the evil acts Slade or Malcolm are fully capable of visiting upon a captive. Especially when the captive gives a high degree of leverage over their true target— Oliver Queen. Scant hours ago, he'd cradled her next to him, savoring her soft warmth and velvet strength. Any harm wrought upon Felicity will devastate him and that bitter knowledge is no longer a secret. Oliver is rapidly running out of the secrets that once kept his loved ones protected.

Oliver's and Thea's feet touch the rocky beach of Lian Yu twelve hours after he wrenched the ominous black arrow from Slade's detestable mask defiling Felicity's bed.

**> \---->|<\----<**

Felicity wonders why her alarm has failed to goad her into facing a new day. Surely it's morning by now? She can't remember the circumstances or where she might be, but she’s just feeling so very tired, unable to lift her eyelashes.

"Wake up, Buttercup."

That voice. There's something about its grating familiarity that provokes a sense of unease accompanied by a flash of anger. A light slap on the face, chased by a strong whiff of ammonia, jolts her fully awake.

"There she is," Malcolm announces, donning his fakest smile. "Welcome back."

The walls spin within Felicity's field of vision and her lungs suddenly feel desperately short of air. Inhaling a deep breath triggers a coughing fit that brings tears. Malcolm's arm wraps behind her back, supporting her as she rises to a sitting position. Getting her bearings, it appears she's on the floor of an airplane, becoming aware of the engine noise and vibrations beneath her.

Felicity tentatively takes another breath, this one smaller and more relaxed, as her diaphragm seeks a normal rhythm. An opened bottle of water appears, offered by a solicitous Malcolm. She eyes it with suspicion, one eyebrow raised.

"I assure you, Ms. Smoak, it's only water," he promises, in his best imitation of earnestness.

"Coming from you, Merlyn, that means," she pauses, then continues, "Absolutely nothing."

"Very droll," he remarks, wryly noting that she grasps the bottle and takes a long, deep swig. "Ready to stand up?"

Malcolm holds onto Felicity's waist as she regains her feet, staggering as she strains for balance.

"Can't hold your Propofol, I see," he observes, dodging the elbow she aims at his ribs.

"Yeah, says the guy who roofied me," Felicity accuses with a bitter glare. With renewed determination, she broadens her stance, intent on rejecting help from her kidnapper.

"Ah, there's the fiery independence we've all come to know and..." It's Malcolm's turn to take an ironic pause before adding, "And find thoroughly aggravating."

Now steady on her pins, Felicity edges toward the row of round side windows to glance below, hoping to see known landmarks as a clue to their location. She is disheartened by the endless stretch of blue water. Casting her gaze to the portholes on the opposite side, she spies more ocean. No land in sight.

Straightening and facing Malcolm, she demands to know, "Where are you taking me?"

"I thought it would be convenient and appropriate to drop you in one of Oliver's old stomping grounds. After all, he knows the territory well," he sneers, going to the back of the fuselage and digging in a pile of bags.

A cruel thought forms in Felicity's mind. Yes, this is exactly the kind of depraved choice Malcolm Merlyn would inflict on Oliver: Abducting and taking her to the place where his scarring nightmares began, the grim island of Lian Yu, his ground zero of deprivation and pain.

Merlyn grabs a couple of packs before standing and heading in Felicity's direction. "The island will come into view soon," he cheerfully predicts. "We want to be ready when it's underfoot, don't we?"

Taking a step back, she eyes the packs in his hands. "I only see one parachute."

"Brilliant as ever," he brags sarcastically, pushing the emergency chute towards her. "Need any help? With all the buckles?" he asks suggestively, touching the lower belts.

"You're a special sort of slime, Merlyn," she spits, yanking the pack from his hand and moving as far from him as the cramped cabin will allow.

The heavy pack nearly unbalances Felicity as she remembers how Digg helped her suit up with a chute the last time she bailed out of a perfectly-good airplane to visit Oliver on Lian Yu. How she misses and needs them both now.  Sensing the onset of tears, she pushes her guys out of her mind to summon inner strength. She'll be damned if she lets this smarmy bastard see her cry. With renewed resolve, Felicity steps into the lower straps and hefts the pack onto her shoulders. She sits on a nearby bench seat while latching the strap across her chest and adjusting the tension. Felicity thanks her lucky stars that she's wearing jeans and flats instead of her usual dress with heels. Although her panda slippers aren't remotely suited for a trek through the wilderness.

Several minutes have lapsed since the pilot announced they were ten miles from the drop site. Felicity nervously downs the contents of her water bottle, fretting about how long it may be before she finds fresh water on the jagged island now looming ahead. As Malcolm steps towards her, Felicity struggles to stand, pitching forward slightly to support the chute's extra weight. She lurches a bit toward to rear of the plane but arrives at the door under her own steam.

Malcolm hands her a belt pack, saying, "Here are a few supplies for your trip."

"My trip," Felicity repeats, tonelessly. She secures it around her waist under the chute straps. But she's determined to camouflage the terror constricting her chest. Reaching deep for composure, she flashes a dimpled smile and flippantly adds, "Great! But you're not going to like my review on Travelocity."

"Yes, well Buttercup, I'll watch for your post," he snarls as he releases the door lock, slides it open and the roaring windstream blasts their faces. Malcolm adds a jaunty farewell, yelling, "Have fun stormin' the castle!" And gleefully pitches Felicity out of the plane.

**> \---->|<\----<**


	9. Classic Blunders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity composes a Top Ten list while falling to her death. Oliver and Thea work out their teamwork styles for search and rescue. Felicity makes clever deductions on the reason for her kidnapping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from The Princess Bride line spoken by Fezzini: "You fell victim to one of the classic blunders - The most famous of which is 'never get involved in a land war in Asia'."  
> This chapter was written while channeling Felicity and her unique phrasing. Perhaps a beta could tell me if that comes across, but I'm going to throw caution to the wind and depend on my lovely, intelligent readers to let me know. So, here we go!

Felicity imagines nine graphic ways she's going to die within the next five minutes. Her parachute fails to inflate and she plummets to her demise. The chute opens and she lands in the sea, drowning when she's dragged under the waves by her chute, stung by a lethal jellyfish or she makes a tasty happy meal for sharks. Her feet touch down on the island shore, where she is killed by a land mine, an ARGUS operative, Slade Wilson, wild boar, poisonous spider, or Dengue fever. Too much research about a destination can mess you up, Felicity realizes as she freefalls. But hey, at least she wasn't chopped to bits by the plane's propeller as she was flung past it.

Okay, I need to prioritize my actions, she reasons. First, I should stop screaming although that's not a simple or instinctive matter when you're tumbling through the open sky without benefit of a roller coaster, but she gets it done. Next, find the ripcord. Her only skydiving experience was last year, but on that occasion, Diggle had operated the parachute they'd shared while she begged her stomach to hang on to its cookies until they landed. Her eyes are stinging from the brutal air currents. Thanks for the goggles, Merlyn, you miserable sack of—

Oh! By a mixed process of searching with her burning eyes and probing fingers, she's located what must be a ripcord handle, because it's bright red and in the center of her chest strap. Felicity's aware you're supposed to wait to open the chute until you've reached a certain altitude, but since she has no idea what that magic number is, or how close she's to the surface—too damn close—she elects to give the handle a good yank. Because screw it, she can't stand another second of this terror.

The square chute catches air quickly, lifting her higher and temporarily easing her stress. Then, fear comes crashing in again as she realizes the wind currents are carrying her away from the craggy island. Felicity thinks the method for controlling direction is to pull the lines so she reaches up to grasp one side. It takes more strength than she expects but she prefers a pulled muscle to ditching in deep water. It requires a few experimental tugs before she's able to steer the canopy above her, but at least the island is below her and coming up fast.

Too fast. Too close to boulders and trees. Oh frak, Death #10. Being impaled on a tree branch. In the final seconds, Felicity spots a small open clearing in the woods and gives the lines a desperate last pull before she slams to earth, dragged along the rocky ground by her wind-filled chute.

**> \---->|<\----<**

A mini-tornado stirs sand and ocean spray as the helicopter roars away from the concrete pad laid by ARGUS for transport of prison staff, inmates and supplies. Oliver and Thea turn their backs on the flying debris and head inland on foot. He notices large rain puddles, mud and wet foliage, worrying that Felicity is out there, alone, cold and unprotected from the elements.

Her head on a swivel, Thea takes in the inhospitable terrain of this island, known as Purgatory for those unlucky souls who have been condemned to a life here. "I guess it was overly optimistic to hope that we would find Felicity sunning on the beach," Thea cracks a weak joke.

Oliver knows this is this sister's sardonic sense of humor, but he can't muster a laugh or a smile over why they're here. As long as Felicity is missing, as long as he's walking the accursed shores of Lian Yu, humor will not cross his radar.

Realizing her misstep, Thea apologizes, "Sorry. That was insensitive. I'm sorry, Ollie."

He pulls her to him for a quick side hug as they continue hiking and steals the beanie from the top of her head, holding it just out of reach. Finally, she jumps and snags it from his hand, asking, "So what's your plan? Where are we headed?"

"First, we find a safe place for you before I go check the prison. To see if it's been compromised," he explains, keeping a sharp eye as they travel into rougher trails.

"But, is it a good idea to split up? Wouldn't it be better if I was your backup? In case Slade's been sprung?" she suggests, her brow furrowed with worry for his safety.

"Thea, do you remember our discussion before we left home?" Oliver reminds her.

"That was a discussion?" she asks, a bit shrill. "I thought it was more like battle."

Ignoring her debate over semantics, he continues, saying, "I agreed to let you come here if you promised to let me take the lead."

"Well yes, but that was based on the assumption that you would lead me where I wanted to go."

**> \---->|<\----<**

All in all, Felicity assesses her injuries and decides she got off splendidly. Well, maybe not splendidly, but way better than falling victim to the Top Ten list she'd composed on her way down. She'd managed to avoid being drowned, stung, devoured, exploded, murdered, gored, poisoned, plagued and impaled. So, she's categorizing her landing solidly in the win column.  As long as she has no reason to move rapidly anytime soon.

Felicity wishes she'd thought to let go of the chute cords before she landed. Her left arm got tangled and she's pretty sure the shoulder's dislocated. So, that arm's pretty much out of commission. Now that she's free of the parachute —wow, that was a lot of fabric— Felicity daintily picks out grains of sand and small rocks embedded in the skin of her upper legs, knees, elbows and forearms. Thank goodness for the giant boulder that finally caught her chute so it stopped her sledding behind it, without a sled. Her bumpy ride pretty much shredded the front of her skinny jeans and the sleeves of her pullover, but they're her only clothing. Unless Malcolm squeezed a spare girly outfit in the emergency supplies strapped to her waist.

Situations like this could be vastly improved by nano technology, Felicity conjectures, hissing at the pain from a particularly deep shard. Or, if Ray blows himself up trying to develop shrinking power, she'd happily fall back on Hermione's magic purse, because right now, she'd trade her 16-terabyte hard drive for that sweet little beaded accessory if it was fully stocked.

But, reality must be faced, Felicity sighs, deciding it's time to take inventory of her resources before she can come up with a plan of action. She's already deduced that the parachute material can be repurposed as bedding to keep her warm. The daytime temperature feels fairly chilly so she's expecting a long, cold night. Sundown can't be far off.

Removing the emergency pack with her good hand, she opens the various pockets with the excitement of a little kid celebrating Hanukkah. Because it was provided by Malcolm, she half expected the pack to contain a twisted assortment of pickle lip balm and canned farts, but she's happily surprised to discover a Swiss army knife, butane lighter, braided cord, a whistle, small mirror, flashlight, compass with a map of Lian Yu, a few medical supplies, a big garbage bag and, the most critical find, a metal canteen filled with water.

Felicity's neurons are briefly short-circuited by Malcolm's lifesaving provisions. Either he's got major passive aggressive issues or... He didn't intend to kill her. Why dump her alone at the end of the earth?

"I'm the cheese," Felicity suddenly declares out loud as Merlyn's scheme becomes clear. He's using her as bait in a trap, to lure Oliver back to this God-forsaken place. But for what purpose? Will Oliver be walking — or flying — into an ambush? If that's the plan, wouldn't Malcolm have stayed on the island to oversee, or take part in, the attack? Slade Wilson is a permanent resident of Lian Yu as a "guest" of ARGUS, but breaching the supermax prison just to exploit a madman's hatred seems like a ridiculously over-complicated and unpredictable plot. Especially when Malcolm has renewed access to The Demon's brute squad, aka the League of Assassins.

Maybe this isn't about where Oliver is, but where he isn't. Maybe the reason for sending him to a remote island was to draw him far away from Starling City.

For the first time since she met him, Felicity hopes Oliver doesn't follow her. But in every fiber of her being, she knows. He will.

**> \---->|<\----<**

At first, Oliver doesn't see it. It's been years since he took shelter in Yao Fei's cave and he fervently hopes his memory hasn't led him in the wrong direction. Finally, he recognizes the entrance, camouflaged by overgrown vines and foliage, which he hacks away with a short blade machete so they can reach the interior.

Tentatively, Thea enters the rock passage, following her brother as he brushes spiderwebs from overhead. She lets out a small squeal of surprise as a flock of creatures fly past her.

"What kind of birds were those?" she asks, as a few more escape the cave opening.

"The bat kind," he retorts, setting a lantern toward the back wall, illuminating the irregular space that once served as his primitive home, now a painful reminder of hardship, hunger and loss. The brother and sister ease heavy backpacks from their tired shoulders to the stone floor on which Thea can't imagine sleeping.  Of course, she rested during the flight overseas and feels fine, but Oliver looks like the walking dead at this point.

Before leaving Palmer's Gulfstream, they raided the galley, taking packaged meals with them so they're set for supper or breakfast or whichever meal has her stomach growling. Jet lag has thoroughly confused her internal clock.

Oliver industriously organizes their camping needs before laying out his arsenal of weapons. He tucks a pistol under his belt at the small of his back. After buckling his loaded quiver, he pulls Shado's green hood over his head and grips his bow, ready to leave again.

"I wish you'd try to rest before you go," Thea says plaintively, her brow puckered with worry.

"Thea, Felicity was taken thirty hours ago. Every minute we waste puts her in greater danger," he explains urgently, but not unkindly. He kisses the top of her head before giving last-minute instructions, "Don't start a fire. Don't leave the cave. There are land mines and booby traps nearby."

"Can I still have boys over?" she asks, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

Oliver just sighs and gives her the _Lord, give me strength_ look, before adding, "If I'm not back in eight hours, call the pilot in Seoul to come for you."

"Ollie!" Thea calls, panic rising in her throat. "Please, I need you to come back."

For a second, her eyes hold him, reminding him he's all his baby sister has left in this world.

"I know, Thea."

He leaves her without a promise. Without a lie.

**> \---->|<\----<**

He moves quickly, muscle memory taking over, as he follows the old tracks etched in his past, bringing visions of Yao Fei, Shado, Slade, Wintergreen, Fyers, Ivo, Sara. Their blood mixed with his in the earth beneath him. Some are buried here. On the bad, sweat-drenched nights when nightmares claim him, Oliver's not sure if he's ever left.

Two hours later, Oliver reaches the heavy hatch door of the ARGUS Supermax underground prison. He looks up to the surveillance camera located nearby and hears the electronic release of the hatch lock. He lifts the round steel door and descends the rail ladder leading to the prison holding area.

Two armed guards in ARGUS uniforms are posted there, one with a submachine gun pointed at Oliver's chest. Raising his hands, Oliver identifies himself, telling them he's armed. He surrenders the bow and gun, but not his arrows because they don't ask. At close range, Oliver doesn't need a bow to make an arrow lethal. But they apparently don't know that. Which amuses and outrages him in equal amounts.

Oliver asks to meet with the on-site commander and is led into a small office area. Shortly, an ARGUS captain arrives and Oliver informs him that extra security measures may be necessary according to Intel from Nanda Parbat. The captain insists on names of sources but Oliver invites him to "Get used to disappointment." Inwardly, he reminds himself to thank Felicity for broadening his catalog of pithy movie lines.

The best news is that the inmate Slade Wilson is where he should be, on ice, locked up tight. The captain tells Oliver that ARGUS is developing experimental drugs to counteract the damage caused by Slade's Mirakiru use. Researchers are "cautiously optimistic."

Before he goes, he tells them a blond woman wearing glasses may arrive needing assistance. Oliver shares the number for his satellite phone, asking that he be contacted immediately if Felicity Smoak is seen.

**> \---->|<\----<**

As it turns out, a map and compass aren't that helpful when you don't know your starting point. Felicity regrets she failed to pay closer attention to the island's landmarks while floating overhead. But she was busy with all the not screaming and not dying business. So, after sleeping a few hours wrapped in the parachute, she strikes out on foot, following the shoreline in hopes of finding the ARGUS prison site.

She manages to rig a makeshift sling from the belts on the chute harness to keep her injured arm immobile. As badly as she hates ripping the chute fabric, it's too cumbersome to fold and carry with only one hand, so she cuts a manageable section, which she bundles like a bedroll, tied with chute cords.

With occasional rests, she walks most of the day, keeping her eyes open for predators and anything remotely edible. She lucks out and finds a few pine cones that she crushes with rocks to harvest the raw nuts inside. Since she's caving in from hunger, it may be the best tiny meal she's ever tasted. It's certainly the most appreciated.

By late afternoon, her feet are protesting the miles of rocky terrain her beloved panda slippers have covered. Felicity seeks a suitable site to camp for the night. If she'd been more confident of her location, she'd have searched for the wrecked plane fuselage that Oliver used as shelter, but it's too far inland. The odds of getting hopelessly lost are simply too high.

The second night's a bad one. Like epically bad. Like the stomach flu bad. Or no date on prom night bad. Or Trojan virus ate my hard drive bad.

Felicity's road rash, although technically there was no road involved, feels like stings from a horde of wasps. Her left shoulder screams from the damaged joint. A chilling downpour soaks everything, including the bedroll. She slits the plastic garbage bag to serve as a personal tarp, her only protection from the relentless rain. In this situation, Oliver would have hunted, foraged, cooked and provided decent shelter. The MIT honor graduate has never felt so ignorant and unprepared for basic survival in a primitive, real world. By the next sunrise, she's burning up with fever.

Felicity adds #12 to her list: Death by stupidity.

**> \---->|<\----<**

Felicity's panda slipper. She threw it in a fit of temper during her Worst. Night. Ever.

Desperate for any sign of her, when Oliver sees the signature shoe, damaged and muddy, lying forlorn near the beach, he questions whether it's his imagination. Until Thea pipes up.

"Hey! Isn't that her shoe?"

While his sister runs to fetch it, Oliver intently scrutinizes the area for more signs of her. Barefoot, Felicity can't have traveled far, if she's alone. If she's alone. That's the question that guts him. As hard as it is to envision her on her own in this unforgiving place, it's excruciating to think of her suffering at the hands of merciless monsters like Merlyn, Slade or R'as.

The Queen siblings silently fan out, searching the immediate area first before delving deeper into the woods. Instinct leads him. He's torn whether to call out. Her name burns the back of his throat, but should she be held prisoner, it would be a classic blunder to announce their presence.

Felicity's flaxen hair flickers in a chance beam of afternoon sun breaking through the trees, leading Oliver to his girl. His _girl_ girl.

**> \---->|<\----<**


	10. Rodents of Unusual Size

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trapped on Lian Yu, Oliver and Thea take turns caring for a feverish Felicity, who has a lot to say about a lot. Especially cheese. Oliver resolves Felicity's nightmares. The motive for her abduction is revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, special thanks to those faithful readers who have been so generous with their reviews and feedback. I am very grateful for your support!  
> This chapter focuses on the surprising, unique gifts of three main characters: Oliver, Felicity & Thea, and their intertwined relationships.  
> As to the chapter title, Felicity's theory about a rat trap makes Oliver the Rodent of Unusual Size, a fun connection to The Princess Bride.

Kneeling at Felicity's side, Oliver's heart constricts with foreboding. She lies so terrifyingly still in the shadow of a huge boulder. Her clothing ripped and blood-stained, she looks frail and small, curled toward the rocks, facing away from him. Yanking off his glove, Oliver places a warm hand along her neck in search of a pulse. At his touch, Felicity suddenly takes a deep gasp for air, startling him before prompting an enormous surge of relief.

"Felicity," he says, his voice breaking as he tenderly cradles her pale face. The heat from Oliver's hand can't compete with her feverish skin. Inwardly, he wars between the deep desire to gather Felicity in his arms and a realistic fear of hurting her. Her eyes flare open as she struggles with confusion.

"Oliver?" she questions, uncertain and disoriented.

"I'm here, Felicity. You're safe now," he reassures while moving his focus away from her wan face to assess her injuries. "Did you hurt your arm?" he asks, tentatively touching the makeshift sling.

"Digg pulled it too hard," she mumbles with a frown, trying to sort out her jumbled thoughts.

Recognizing delirium, Oliver comforts her with a calm voice and soothing touch. "Is it alright if I take a look?"

"Well okay, but Mama said no more playing doctor even if the boy is cute," she explains in all seriousness.

Oliver slips his hand beneath the neckline of her pullover and lightly traces the bones from her clavicle toward her shoulder, asking, "You think I'm cute, Felicity?"

She rolls her eyes dramatically, answering, "Pfftt! All the girls think so."

As soon as his fingers reach her shoulder, Oliver winces in sympathy as he feels the dislocated bone. How long has she suffered like this, he worries, having first-hand memories of joint damage.

Oliver whistles loudly to signal Thea to find him. He pulls his canteen, lifting Felicity's head so she can drink. Chances are good that she's dehydrated, which could also be why she's talking out of her head. A hard chill racks her slender frame. Oliver gently lowers her, pausing to press a grateful kiss to her forehead, then shrugs out of his jacket to snug it around her.

"Oh my god," Thea quietly cries, as she takes in Felicity's pitiful appearance. She crouches beside her brother, murmuring, "How is she?"

"Her arm's out of the socket," he adds tersely. "Have you ever reset a shoulder?"

"No," Thea exclaims, incredulous. "Have you?"

"I'm going to need you to hold her when she's sitting up so I can pull the bone into place," Oliver instructs, moving to Felicity's injured side and raising her slowly, saying, "Felicity, we need to realign your arm. So it will feel better, ok?"

"Oliver, I'm the cheese," Felicity tells him with utmost earnestness. "I need you to understand."

Oliver and Thea exchange bewildered expressions.

"Oliver?" Felicity says, with a searching gaze.

"Yes, Felicity," he answers. "You're the cheese."

"Not just any cheese," she asserts. " _Your_ cheese. It's why he did it."

While she babbles, Oliver's hand has found its way under her shirt again while he feels her shoulder to make certain he has the right angle to seat the humerus where it belongs.

Thea studies her brother's actions, following his lead. When he's satisfied that Thea has a secure hold, he leans close to Felicity and gently touches his cheek to hers, whispering, "I'm so sorry."

Then, with a focused, powerful pull, Oliver resets Felicity's shoulder. Her scream tears him in half.

**> \---->|<\----<**

Ominous storm clouds loom on the western horizon, delaying their chance for helicopter transport. Because the cave is hours closer than the prison complex, Oliver carries Felicity there to protect her from the elements and the possible prying eyes of The League. He is troubled by the mysterious reasons for Felicity's abduction and not yet certain they're fully out of danger. The past three days make no sense. What did the kidnappers hope to accomplish by dumping her in this place?

Oliver carefully situates Felicity in his sleeping bag while Thea pulls clean clothing for their patient. He rips up one of his t-shirts to make her a more comfortable sling.

When Thea notices her brother about to cut Felicity's ruined clothes from her, she stages a hissy fit.

"What are you doing?" his sister erupts hotly, taking the knife from this hand. "Leave the girl some dignity."

Slightly hurt by her reaction, Oliver says defensively, "I'm just taking care of Felicity."

Thea smacks the back of his head. "Stop being such a ... such a ..... Oliver! Trust me, she doesn't want you doing this part. So you go build us a nice fire and shish kabob something we can eat. I'll be the nurse."

Backing up a step, Oliver hovers. "You'll need to clean and treat the cuts."

"I know," Thea says, gathering his jacket and shoving it at him.

"And she needs ibuprofen. With lots of water," he impresses upon her.

"It's handled," Thea confirms, continuing to push him toward the cave mouth.

"And you'll have to be careful of that arm," he frets, his classic frown embedded between his cobalt eyes.

"Ollie," she begins, patting his shoulder forcefully, "I got this. Now. Get. Out."

**> \---->|<\----<**

The sun is slipping into the North China Sea when Oliver returns, carrying two cleaned and plucked pheasants along with some native vegetables that resemble distant cousins of green onions, sweet potatoes, turnips and asparagus. He lays the fowl and produce into their small wok and heads straight for Felicity, checking her temperature with his hand on her brow.

"How’s she doing?" he asks, relieved to see that Felicity’s hair has been brushed and braided in one thick plait, her face washed and tattered clothes exchanged for soft cotton pajamas. It's amazing how much better she already seems now that the layers of mud and blood are gone. Without her customary makeup, Felicity appears heartbreakingly young.

"When she's awake, she's still half off her nut. Felicity's conversations are always funny, but you ain't heard nothin' 'til she's running a fever," Thea laughs softly. "Part of the time she's worrying about updating her software and then she's babbling about being your cheese. I don't even want to know what _that's_ about."

As she talks, Thea scoops the vegetables onto a clean, flat stone they've been using as a cutting board, preparing to dice them. Leaving Felicity's side, Oliver pulls a pouch filled with small plants from his pocket.

"Do we need to dice those, too?" Thea asks with curiosity, inspecting the unusual herbs.

"No, I'll crush them," he volunteers, arranging the greens between two rocks he uses like a mortar and pestle.

Thea's nose wrinkles as the plants release a peculiar mix of aromas. "Are those to eat?" she quizzes him, not at all sure she's a fan of his latest provisions.

"They're medicines. For Felicity," Oliver clarifies, amused by her familiar scowl of distaste. "You made that same face when Raisa would give you Milk of Magnesia."

Thea gags at the mere mention of the nasty remedy.

Oliver chuckles at her predictable revulsion while mixing his medicinal herbs into a tin cup of water which he carries to Felicity. Setting the cup aside, he lowers the blanket covering her to examine her shoulder, relying on his fingers to follow the smooth roundness of the joint, satisfied that the bone has stayed in place. Felicity expels a soft moan at his touch. His hand lingers on her bruised shoulder as he shares the warmth of his palm in a comforting compress.

"Felicity."

"Mmmm?" she responds, not opening her eyes, but a smile ghosts across her lips.

"Felicity, can you drink this for me?" he requests, his fingers grazing her cheek to help her wake.

Her lashes flutter as she mumbles, "I don't really like this hotel, Oliver. Although the maid was nice."

Thea releases a short bark of laughter, shaking her head as she sets the filled wok in the fire.

"Well, I'll speak with the concierge," Oliver promises as he lifts Felicity's head, tipping the cup to her lips. "Take a sip for me."

She swallows a mouthful, her eyes flaring at the unpleasant taste. "Oh, frack! That's disgusting."

"I know," Oliver consoles her. "Just one more."

When the cup returns, Felicity flashes a vengeful side-eye in his direction, but dutifully takes the second dose. She shudders at the awful flavor.

"That's my girl," he murmurs, letting her head nestle back into the cocoon of bedding. "Can I see to your skinned places?"

She nods solemnly, watching his every move. Thea has dressed her in sleep shorts so her loosely-bandaged scrapes are easy to check. He lifts the edge of the gauze to be satisfied that the wounds are clean and dry, repeating his exam with her arms. His sister has done an admirable job as caregiver/nurse.

As he tends to her, Felicity's hand has wandered up to tenderly stroke his jaw. Oliver's eyes meet hers. There's full recognition in her affectionate gaze. Felicity may be confused about where she is and what's happening around her, but there's no doubt she knows who he is. He fights a sudden desire to kiss her, to tell her without relying on fleeting, ordinary words that she is his. That he is hers.

**> \---->|<\----<**

That night, the storm rages over the island, lashing the rock-bound terrain with wind-driven icy rain, streaked with jagged flashes of lightning. Oliver beds down next to Felicity, in case her condition worsens and simply because he's haunted by the fate she'd be facing now if they hadn't found her when they did. Each time his eyes close, he's plagued by the vivid image of Felicity lying, hurt and feverish, in this merciless, biting downpour. Finally, he reaches for her in the darkness, settling his hand alongside her silken hair and the enduring pulsepoint in her neck, letting the regular pattern of her beating heart lull him into untroubled sleep.

Toward dawn, Felicity's perpetual nightmare revisits her. This time, she watches from above as R'as' sword plunges into Oliver's chest. As Felicity always does when she's caught in this harrowing dream, she struggles to intervene, to prevent the grisly drama from playing out, from reaching its inevitable conclusion. From ripping her heart from its moorings.

But on this night in this faraway place, the chilling episode ends differently. As she flails hopelessly in the darkness, fighting for Oliver's life, he is there. With her. It's his singular voice conquering despair, dispelling Felicity's fears by calling her name. It's his strong arms reaching for her. It's his breath warming the shell of her ear with whispers of his abiding presence. Solid, real, here and vibrantly alive.

**> \---->|<\----<**

Like the open skies above, Felicity's blue eyes are clear when she stirs hours later. Her fever gone, the rosy color has returned to her face, along with her appetite. Oliver insists that she continue taking his vile herbal concoction so she forces herself to bite that bullet... or, in this case, should the metaphor be an arrow?

This is probably the lightest Oliver has ever felt while on Lian Yu. Buoyed by Felicity's improvement, Oliver very nearly breaks into a bonafide grin. The ARGUS prison is a long five miles from their location so their plan is to allow another day for Felicity's recovery before leaving their rock shelter.

Felicity is markedly better, completely rational and walking about their primitive headquarters, although her steps are measured and tentative. Thea continues to tend to Felicity's personal needs, kicking Oliver out of the cave at regular intervals for girl time. It's a prime opportunity for Thea to satisfy her growing curiosity about the shifting dynamic between her brother and his IT girl.

"So..." Thea begins, helping Felicity change into a comfy Henley, no easy task with a damaged shoulder and scraped arms. "What's going on with you and Ollie?"

Ducking her head to study Thea's nimble fingers as she stretches the shirt sleeve over her bandaged forearm, Felicity answers vaguely, saying, "We're figuring that out."

Carefully removing Felicity's sling, Thea persists. "To me, it looks like you've already passed that stage."

Felicity fails to hide the sweet smile that confirms Thea's suspicion. Drawing a deep, cleansing breath, Felicity adds, "Things changed for us, for me, when Oliver nearly..." Even now, she can't say it aloud. Thea can't either.

Clearing her throat, Felicity admits, "Nearly losing him... It  gave me a new perspective. I experienced life without him. Fearing he was never coming home to me. I just don't feel whole without him."

If anyone could relate to a confession such as this, it was Thea Queen, who had grieved the loss of her older brother for five years. She gives Felicity a gentle, sisterly hug, remarking, "After what I've seen the past few days, he feels the same about you. My brother deserves to be happy. I’m glad he finds that with you, Felicity."

**> \---->|<\-----<**

When Oliver returns mid-day with three cleaned fish, he discovers Felicity napping at the back of the cave while Thea repacks her bags, in hopes of leaving tomorrow. After letting his fingers linger on Felicity's cool, smooth brow, he gathers cooking supplies to start supper.

"I wish we had lemons," he mutters.

Watching her brother work, Thea questions, "So when did you become a _for real_ cook?"

"When I had to. Like everything else I became in order to survive," he replies while dicing green onions and garlic.

With a crooked grin, Thea observes, "If Mom had known that's all it took, she might have stranded you here during high school."

To her pleasant surprise, he huffs a light chuckle with an agreeable nod, muttering, "Maybe."

After a few moments of comfortable silence, Oliver turns to his younger sister, saying, "Hey, thanks for helping me care for Felicity. You were right. It just hadn't occurred to me you could do those things."

Thea joins him, crosses her legs and gracefully sits while he hunts through their limited supply of spices. “Yeah, I know how to do that stuff," she offers. "Mom was sick a lot while you were..."

"Dead?" he jokes.

"While you were _gone_. Raisa and I took care of her," she recalls, wistful with memories of mother.

Yet again, Oliver is reminded of all the things he missed during his five years away from home. And all the hardships endured by his sister, whose family was shattered at such a tender age. He pauses to wrap Thea in his arms, saying, "I'm sorry you were left alone to pick up the pieces."

"I'm just glad you're home again," she replies, adding, "But you smell like a big, fat fish."

He tousles her hair playfully and she skitters away, holding her nose in exaggerated fashion.

**> \---->|<\----<**

"So, about this cheese business..." Thea begins as the trio finishes their meal. Oliver and his sister look to Felicity with identical arched brows.

"What?" Felicity wonders, completely bewildered by the new topic.

"Felicity, you kept mentioning cheese while you were sick," Oliver explains patiently.

"You said you were Oliver's cheese," Thea adds with a giggle.

Blushing slightly, Felicity repeats, "Oliver's cheese? Oliver's... _Oh!_ I am Oliver's cheese!"

Snapping her fingers, Thea celebrates with a whoop, "There it is!"

"Felicity," he prompts, inviting her explanation.

"This was an elaborate rat trap," she blurts. "A case of overkill if you ask me. Malcolm brought me here, knowing Oliver would follow."

"So, that makes you, Oliver, the rat!" Thea deduces, quite tickled with the imagery.

"But why?" Oliver questions, not for the first time.

"To get you out of their way," Felicity quietly asserts, tears of guilt suddenly pricking her eyes. "Because they knew you would follow me."

"Felicity," Oliver murmurs, reaching to console her. "Whatever their game is, I have no regrets about coming here. As long as you're safe."

 While Felicity snuggles in Oliver's embrace, Thea slips out of the cave, the Sat phone secure in her grasp. Minutes later, she returns, her face ashen.

"Thea," Oliver says, touching her arm in concern. "What's wrong?"

She holds the phone up, as if in evidence. "I called Digg. The Arrow assassinated the Mayor and two aldermen. SCPD knows you’re the Arrow, Oliver. We can't go home."

**> \---->|<\---->**


	11. A Battle of Wits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver, Felicity and Thea return home to convene with their war council. Laurel fills in the gaps. Nyssa brings a gift. Malcolm lends a hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special Kudos to those readers who have been so thoughtful and generous with their comments and support. You truly make this effort worthwhile.  
> The Chapter Title is from the Princess Bride line spoken by The Man in Black to Vizzini:  
> Man in Black: I challenge you to a battle of wits.  
> Vizzini: For the Princess?  
> Man in Black: [nods]  
> Vizzini: To the death?  
> Man in Black: [nods]  
> Vizzini: I accept!  
> Man in Black: "All right. Where is the poison? The battle of wits has begun. It ends when you decide and we both drink, and find out who is right... and who is dead."

It's a blow, now that Malcolm's motives are laid bare before them. War with R'as al Ghul and his League of Assassins has begun in earnest, catching Oliver's team woefully unprepared. But how can the strategies of deeply malevolent men, like Malcolm and R'as, be foreseen, or countered?

"We have to get ahead of them," Felicity stresses from her place huddled by the fire in the cave's mouth. "It's a high stakes game of chess, Oliver. Malcolm relied on his knowledge of you and your... priorities to control the central squares, Starling City, in this case. His tactic was to draw your piece —don't go there — out of play so he would have free run of the board."

"Felicity," Oliver sighs in frustration, "I don't see how—"

"She's right," Thea asserts. "So how do we get back in the game?"

"First, we have to get back on the board," Felicity clarifies, "Which clearly, is not here."

"Symbols are all well and good," Oliver insists forcefully. "But war is no board game. It's blood and pain and loss. It's suffering, loneliness and death. War is messy and fraught with confusion. Game tokens and boards of neat little squares mean nothing when you're sweating and bleeding in the trenches facing the enemy's arsenal. Making the choice between killing or being killed. When all you want is to make it back home."

And that shuts them up. A single tear, glistening in the firelight, trails down Felicity's cheek. Thea's face drops into her upturned palms, feeling utterly defeated. Oliver stares into the flames, his gaze burning hotter than the embers at his feet.

Finally, Felicity rises and walks to Oliver's side, her hand stroking his tensed bicep, her eyes raised, calmly seeking his.

"What are we going to do, Oliver?" she asks quietly, her palm slipping under his jacket to lie in the center of his chest, above the Bratva tattoo, covering his heart.

At Felicity's gentle touch, Oliver places his hand atop hers and casts his gaze down to meet hers. There is sadness and solace, strength and brokenness, powerlessness and trust shared between them, with no words spoken.

"The only thing we can," he decides. "We're going home."

**> \---->|<\----<**

The Gulfstream coasts down the Central City tarmac in the darkest hours of the night, slowing as it reaches the last of the runway lights. Oliver releases the latch on the narrow galley door, but pauses to turn and face Felicity, who anxiously watches from the cabin. Even in the dimmed light, his eyes find hers and that's the only invitation she needs to walk into his embrace.

"Will it do any good if I beg you to be careful?" she whispers, trying not to sound clingy. As she clings to him.

"We'll meet in an hour," he promises, kissing her temple. "After we make certain S.T.A.R. Labs isn't being watched by the law."

"Every time you leave," she murmurs against his chest. "I can't help it. I just—"

"Felicity. Just kiss me," he implores, lowering his lips to hers, his arms wrapping across her back, a hand gliding under her hair to caress her neck. It's a tender kiss that lingers, in danger of becoming something more.

"Oh, for God's sake," Thea groans from the shadows behind Felicity. "I can't unsee this. Get a room, will ya?"

Felicity's lips curve into a bashful smile, complete with the dimples he finds irresistible.

"Soon," Oliver quietly vows, kissing her once more, before pivoting and disappearing through the jet's open hatch. Leaping into darkness, he tucks and rolls on contact with asphalt as the plane cruises past him into the curve, taking it on the final stretch to the terminal. Oliver crouches and gets oriented before silently escaping the runway into the adjacent field. Keeping a low profile, he travels on foot, climbing a fence before bearing toward the roadway, where Diggle, Laurel and Roy wait in his parked SUV.

After letting Oliver settle in the backseat, Digg makes eye contact in the rearview mirror, warning, "Keep your head down, man. SCPD has orders to shoot your ass on sight."

**> \---->|<\----<**

"Their focus right now is finding The Arrow's headquarters," Laurel tells Oliver's informal war council, gathered in the basement of S.T.A.R. Labs to discuss strategies. Others at the table are his most trusted confederates: Diggle, Felicity, Thea, Roy, Barry Allen and Dr. Caitlin Snow. A key player missing from the brain trust is Nyssa al Ghul whose contact info is spotty at best.

"So how'd your Dad find out?" Roy asks Laurel, a niggle of suspicion in his tone. "About Oliver?"

"R'as al Ghul paid my father a late evening call," Laurel answers evenly. "And we think Malcolm Merlyn was the assassin posing as The Arrow."

"The boys have been busy little beavers," Felicity observes dryly.

Barry activates a remote control lowering a large screen from a recessed panel in the ceiling, where a media projector is also mounted. Salivating over the slick setup, Felicity flashes a wishful glance in Oliver's direction which he studiously ignores. With a few clicks on Barry’s laptop, the screen comes to life with video images from  the recent assassinations committed by the bogus Arrow.

It's brutal to watch. The murders, captured by a local news team, clearly show the emerald archer, clad in familiar leathers and hood, burying lethal green arrows in the chests of the Mayor and two aldermen during a public meeting. Horrified, Felicity looks away, her heart aching for Oliver, whose icy stare bores into the screen. Beneath the table, her hand finds his tightly clenched, but at her soft touch, his fingers relax to wrap around hers.

When the monitor goes black, the silence hangs heavily on the assembled allies. Finally, Oliver growls a single condemning word, "Malcolm."

"You sure, Oliver?" Diggle questions, looking to his longtime partner.

With a terse nod, Oliver replies, "I recognize his form. He holds his right elbow a hair too high."

"Forensically speaking, we might be able to prove that it was Malcolm, not Oliver, who fired the arrows," Barry suggests, full of optimism.

"Yeah," Digg nods. "A dead guy impersonated Oliver."

"Oh, yeah," Barry realizes, his bubble burst. "The rest of the world doesn't know Malcolm's alive. It's hard to keep up with who knows what. Does anybody else have that problem?"

Felicity sends a sympathetic smile to her friend, who seems so young and naive, especially in Oliver's company.

"Then we prove that too," Felicity pronounces. "We find a way to convince Captain Lance — and the District Attorney — that Malcolm survived. And he's framing Oliver for these killings. Barry and I can help gather evidence."

"I'll do what I can with the DA," Laurel volunteers, making notes on a legal pad from her briefcase.

Turning to Laurel, Felicity offers, "I'm sure Ray Palmer and his pilot are willing to offer personal affidavits stating that Oliver and Thea were visiting Seoul when the murders occurred."

"Malcolm and R'as both know about The Foundry," Oliver says. "I can't believe they haven't tipped off SCPD yet."

"It's just a matter of time before they stage a raid," Digg predicts.

"We have to clear all traces of our presence," Oliver sighs. "Fingerprints, weapons, files—"

"Computers?" Felicity squeaks in horror as she realizes her digital universe is about to be obliterated. Oliver's thumb draws comforting circles against her skin, pulling their joined hands to rest on his upper thigh.

"Scorched earth, Buttercup," Roy quips.

The nickname triggers vile memories of Malcolm's oily voice in Felicity's ear, moments before flinging her out of his plane. Turning to Roy, she pleads quietly, "Don't call me that. Please. Don't ever."

Instantly penitent, Roy apologizes, "I'm sorry. I won't. Okay, Blondie?"

Rewarding him with a forgiving smile, Felicity demurs, "Okay."

Oliver studies her face with concern. Her exhaustion's beginning to show in the purple shadows beneath her eyes. She's overdue for a dose of ibuprofen. A single glance at his sister confirms Thea's wilting too.

"Okay, our immediate concern is locating a safe house in the interim," Oliver states.

Ever the friendly sort, Barry is quick to respond, "I'm sure Joe would welcome you to stay with us?"

"Joe West? Isn't he a policeman?" Diggle asks. "That might put him in a difficult position. I mean, considering you'd be harboring a fugitive."

Barry nods regretfully while various housing offers and smaller conversations break out. The best idea, much to Oliver's chagrin, is Felicity's suggestion that she ask Ray Palmer about staying in his Central City apartment. Because Oliver's overriding concern is Felicity's health, they decide to spend tonight in the basement of S.T.A.R. Labs where there is an infirmary. Caitlin whisks Felicity to her medical bay to x-ray her bruised shoulder. Thea tiredly traipses off with them, craving a shower and a warm night's sleep on an honest-to-God mattress and pillow.

By the time everyone has gone their individual ways, Felicity's hooked to an IV and soothed by a potent blend of painkillers and muscle relaxers. She's cozy in a hospital bed, humming happily at the heavenly sensation of being freshly showered and lying in clean sheets. When Oliver reappears, towel-drying his hair, Felicity greets him by asking, "Cleanliness truly is next to godliness, don't you think, Oliver?"

"Pretty much," he agrees, sitting on her bed, next to her thigh. "How you feeling?"

"Absolutely divine," she replies sleepily, with a blissful expression.

"Caitlin says the shoulder's looking good. No surgery necessary," he explains.

"Oh," she reacts, a slight frown forming. "I didn't even know that was a concern."

He picks up her hand, carefully avoiding the IV port. She watches him thoughtfully, remarking, "This is like when you first came back. Only we've changed places."

"Yeah, this is worse," he confesses. "I hate seeing you in a hospital bed."

"Right back at ya, dude," she quips, adding her patented side-eye.

"Diggle has let your mom know you've been traveling in remote locations for your job, so she won't worry."

"Remote locations," she repeats. "Well... it isn't a lie."

"He'll pick up some of your things from your apartment tomorrow," he says, understanding she's bothered that they can't return home.

"I love my apartment," Felicity sighs wistfully.

"It's just until this blows over. But your place isn't safe right now."

"I know," she agrees. "I hate that Malcolm took that away from me."

A muscle tenses in Oliver's jaw, revealing his simmering fury over Felicity's victimization by Merlyn.

"Hey," she murmurs, squeezing his fingers. "We'll get him. But tonight, let's cuddle and rest."

Felicity rolls onto her side, making room for him to spoon with her. Oliver obliges, realizing how weary he is as he sinks into her sweet softness, burying his face in her hair. Nuzzling her neck, he whispers, "I want you, Felicity."

His admission takes Felicity's breath, causing the fine muscles in her lower abdomen to spasm in heated response. If she wasn't drugged in a hospital bed and tied up in another damn sling, she'd be on him like white on rice. But for now, she luxuriates in Oliver's warm closeness, his sensual words and the thrilling prospect of nights to come.

"Our timing sucks," she moans, taking solace in the weight of Oliver's arm around her waist, his leg draped possessively across hers and his even breaths warming her cheek. As long-denied sleep claims them, Oliver repeats the resonating promise he whispered earlier in the evening.

"Soon."

**> \---->|<\----<**

"We could send her an owl? Or use a portkey?" Felicity brainstorms half-heartedly, as she tries to solve the mystery of how to communicate with the elusive Nyssa al Ghul, their avowed collaborator. "She doesn't really seem like a chick who would text… or tweet… or snapchat. We could try a flaming arrow which is more your department, but seriously, I'm at a loss here. Oliver?"

Jerking his head up from the list he's compiling, Oliver's face softens, losing his scowl of concentration. Working at the kitchen table in Palmer's apartment, they’re finalizing plans for their impending mission to scrub and retire The Foundry.

"Felicity."

"Yes, Oliver," she patiently answers, her eyes sparkling with amusement at his laser focus.

"Can you plant someone's fingerprints?" he asks.

"Let me just Google that," she replies, pressing letters on the face of her phone and reading the small screen. "Which you could also do with your own man fingers on your very own phone. But, looky here. I've already made the magic happen."

"Felicity."

Adjusting her glasses, she continues, "This article says fingerprints can be forged using photographic emulsion. It sounds pretty complicated."

He moves to her side, reading over her shoulder.

"So, I'm thinking we can't make fake fingerprints, but a forensics specialist—"

"Like Barry," Oliver interjects.

"Oh yeah, just like Barry," she celebrates his solution with a petite fist pump. "That's brilliant, Oliver."

"He can also help with your Nyssa problem," he suggests, his fingers moving up her arm to play with her bare earlobe. Then his lips are there, trailing little kisses along her jaw.

"Oliver," she says, trying to ignore the delicious sensations he's causing.

"Hmmm," he murmurs, turning her in his arms to face him.

"Whose fingerprints are you wanting to plant?" she inquires as her eyes close in expectation of his kisses reaching her waiting lips.

"Malcolm's," he mutters, just before his mouth seals hers, ending their conversation to start a totally more interesting, nonverbal one.

**> \---->|<\----<**

The arrival of The Flash is electrifying, no matter how many times Felicity's witnessed his sudden appearance followed by a blinding contrail of brilliant red sparks. But when the fastest man alive shows up in The Foundry, bearing the medieval amazon, Nyssa al Ghul, it's a juxtaposition that defies description.

"Best celebrity wife swap ever," Felicity remarks to no one, mesmerized by the contradiction before her.

Preserving her dignity, Nyssa has already distanced herself from the scarlet superhero. With her scimitar at her side, she virtually bristles with weapons, including a full sheath of arrows and bow.

Oliver approaches the assassin slowly, even though they're sworn allies. The danger embodied by The Demon's daughter demands caution and respect.

"Welcome, Nyssa al Ghul," he says in formal greeting.

"Oliver Queen," Nyssa responds stiffly. "I come bearing a gift. To prove my fealty and bond our alliance."

Without further ceremony, she pulls a leather bag from her belt, placing it in Oliver's outstretched hand. With a nod of thanks, he steps to his work table, loosening the pouch's drawstring. Looking inside, Oliver drops the bag in shock and takes a step back.

His reaction pulls Felicity and Diggle closer, with her asking, "Oliver, what is it?"

Oliver stares at Nyssa in confusion and horror.

Nyssa's voice rings out, cold and clear in The Foundry, "It is the sword hand of our enemy, Malcolm Merlyn. The Magician's blade will rise no more."

**> \---->|<\----<**


	12. Drop. Your. Sword.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nyssa has shocking news. The Flash turns domestic. Felicity and Oliver bid farewell to The Foundry and the hood. Captain Lance gets his man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While we wait impatiently for the launch of Season 5, I continue to gleefully unravel the Arrow's third year. This chapter has moments of real nostalgia for Oliver and Felicity as they prepare to abandon the place where they began. I hope you find it a nice alternative version!  
> The Chapter title was made "Princess Bride" legend by Westley when he dramatically commanded the Prince Humperdinck to, "Drop. Your. Sword." followed by one of the funniest surrenders on film.  
> Thank you to my lovely and faithful family of followers who continue to support this story! This one's for you...

"Soooo... Where's the rest of him?" Felicity wonders aloud, circling the nondescript black leather pouch as if it's radioactive. The Flash actually opens the bag and peeks inside with fascination as the forensic scientist in Barry can't resist at least a cursory exam of the gruesome criminal evidence.

"His remains will be delivered at your bidding," Nyssa announces, cool as the Starling River in winter.

Oliver, Diggle and Felicity exchange stunned expressions, absorbing the ramifications of her astounding words. Felicity silently mouths the word, "Remains?"

"You killed Merlyn?" Oliver demands to know, his question a mix of disbelief and alarm.

"I claimed his sword hand for you, Oliver Queen, in recompense for the treachery wrought against your kith and kin," Nyssa reveals, her voice softening as she adds, "I took his life for Ta-er al-Safar."

The shockwaves of her admission seep into their collective grasp of what Malcolm's death means for each and all of them. Oliver's first thoughts are of his sister and the personal price this casualty will cost her. But, his concerns for Thea will have to wait. For now,  he needs to glean critical information from Nyssa.

"You have broken ties with your father, The Demon's Head?" Oliver surmises.

"I am condemned to live in exile," she says simply.

"Are you alone? Do you have followers within the League?" Oliver asks, beginning to pace a narrow line.

"I have those who are loyal to my cause. They are not legion, but their hearts are fierce, their aim true, their eyes clear."

"Do you seek protection?" Oliver inquires, his mind racing with the speed of unfolding events and how to prepare for the inevitable consequences. "I cannot offer you shelter as I am —"

"Also in exile?" Diggle suggests, with an inflection of irony.

Giving a perceptive nod to his partner, Oliver returns his focus to Nyssa, who says, "I have safe lodging that is known only to my trusted advocates."

"Um... about that," Felicity timidly speaks up, stepping to Oliver's side. "Because we are presently off the grid. Well, off the reservation, so to speak. Or banished from the kingdom? Oh frack, I don't speak Camelot..."

Beguiled by Felicity's awkward rambling, Nyssa's eyebrows lift, baffled by the blonde's wandering train of thought.

Because he is fluent in Felicity, Oliver lightly touches the small of her back and reframes her question. "Because we are allies against your father, we need to know how to stay in contact, as we are all fugitives at this point. We can provide you a burner phone like we carry."

Nyssa's grants a subtle nod of understanding, "I accept your method. You can also send missives through my courier, Sin, who once kept faith with my beloved."

Diggle programs numbers into a disposable phone, which he passes to the dark amazon.

"Oliver Queen, do not forget. My father clings to ancient prophecy, telling of the one who survives The Demon's blade, destined to serve as his heir and eventual ruler," Nyssa vows with dead certainty. "As surely as night follows day, he will come for you, and those you love, to have his way. The waters of the Pit have leached away whatever mercy his soul once possessed. The Demon will ruthlessly claim that which he sees as his by divine right. Do not underestimate his cold-blooded intentions or his barbarity."

"I have heard you, Nyssa al Ghul," Oliver affirms. "We are in your debt for avenging my family and—"  reaching for Felicity's hand, "My beloved."

 _What_?? Felicity is thunderstruck by the weight of his words. Did Oliver Queen just refer to her as his _beloved_? Maybe beloved has a different significance in Nyssa's arcane verbiage? Like Australians call everyone mate. But the way his strong fingers are curled around hers and the earnest tone he'd used seem like... _he meant it?_

A quick glance at the others in the room convinces Felicity that she's not the only one reaching this conclusion. Barry and Diggle are literally smirking at one another. Hell, even Nyssa's lips are curved into a knowing smile that makes her look even more dangerous than usual. But the expression on Oliver's face positively arrests her with sincerity, with openness. He meets her puzzled gaze with unveiled commitment, with piercing eyes that have always told her more than words ever could.

Nyssa infringes on this personal moment, declaring, "I will be near," before leaving in a flourish of scarlet and black.

"For a secret lair," Barry observes, "This place sure attracts a lot of foot traffic."

If looks could kill, Oliver's burning blue stare would immolate Barry where he stands.

Calm as ever, Diggle retorts, "Speaking of traffic, there's soon gonnna' be a parade of cops down here so we could use your speedy assistance."

"Sure!" Barry volunteers, looking around for jobs. "What can I do?"

"We need to erase any DNA evidence that we were ever here," Oliver says. "Fingerprints, hair, blood—"

"Sweat," Felicity adds with a longing glance at the salmon ladder. "Lots of sweat."

"Guys, you do remember my day job?" Barry reminds them with a friendly grin. "I got this."

The blurred streak of red light in The Flash's wake is strangely hypnotic as he streaks around and through The Foundry. The pungent smells of alcohol disinfectant reveal what their eyes are not quick enough to see. Moments later, the Flash comes back into focus as he slows to a stop, wearing practical  rubber gloves and gripping a sponge with a towel casually draped over his shoulder.

Pointing to Felicity's bank of computers, Barry offers, "You need help scrubbing files?"

Lifting a perfectly-shaped eyebrow and confidently crossing her arms across her chest, Felicity asks, "Seriously?"

Raising his hands in mock surrender, Barry offers a crooked smile, "Just a friendly offer."

"Thanks for that," Felicity answers, standing on tiptoe to share a goodbye hug with her lanky friend.

Barry turns to Oliver, lifting the towel from his own shoulder to drop it across the glowering archer's arm. Then, under his breath, Barry mutters, "I'll just set this down here," leaving his gloves and cleaning supplies on a nearby table. He shakes Digg's hand, adding "Good luck, guys!" before disappearing, the slash of crimson sparks remaining after he's long gone.

After pulling on latex gloves, Diggle opens Nyssa's leather pouch for the distasteful task of planting Malcolm's fingerprints in key locations around the room while Felicity skitters as far as she can get from the vile, severed appendage. "You've gotta admit," Digg comments as he works, "Nyssa sure gave us a hand with this particular business."

His terrible pun elicits groans and boos from every direction, in addition to the cleaning rags Oliver pelts in his direction.

**> \---->|<\----<**

Hours later, Felicity zips the portable backup drive into its case before she executes a final wipe of her hard drives. Deserting The Foundry takes a higher emotional toll than she expected. Every apparatus, each work station, every surface holds a memory of relationships and trust built during the past three years, one night at a time. The Arrow's distinctive leather suit stands alone among empty forms in glass cases, bringing tears as she realizes Oliver can never wear it again. Gazing at the rack of custom arrows, Felicity clearly recalls the hours he spent here, forging, grinding and sharpening the heads with meticulous precision. She lingers in the medical bay, her gloved hand skimming the metal gurney, wishing she could forget the desperate nights when they fought for Oliver's life, his lifeblood seeping through her frantic fingers.

She'd never met anyone like him. Felicity had heard of Oliver Queen, of course. Before the family yacht sank in the North China Sea, Oliver was a local celebrity sensation. He rightfully owned a reputation as a slick womanizing frat boy. And then the boy was taken down with the Queen's Gambit, or so the world presumed. Five years later, Oliver's return from the dead dominated the news cycle. But the brash party boy was gone, replaced by a hardened, damaged survivor who shunned the spotlight and struggled to find his footing in the day-to-day life of Starling City. It was only when the sun set that Oliver unleashed his violent craving for justice, visiting the wrath of God on powerful parasites, like those who had abused and exploited him during his lost years.

When Felicity actually met Oliver, he surprised her. The soft-spoken, intelligent guy who sought her help possessed a quiet, unassuming charm. There was no denying that his striking looks lived up to the hype. He was beyond handsome. From the first time she saw him in the flesh, she could only describe Oliver as beautiful, in a glorious, masculine way. Steeped in the world of technology and engineering, Felicity was accustomed to man-boys who lived in their computers, whose only exercise involved their fingers clicking a mouse. Oliver's sheer physical presence, his jaw-dropping strength, his sculpted muscles, had a magnetic pull on the MIT graduate. But Felicity's compassionate nature also sensed his pain, saw the shadows that never left his eyes, felt his hunger for absolution. And then he'd crawled into her car, bleeding out, disguised by leathers and a green hood. Needing her. Trusting her not only with his survival, but with his secret life as the hooded vigilante. Felicity still wonders why he invited her into his covert mission and made her a full partner in his personal quest for justice.

"Hey."

Lost in reflection, she's startled by Oliver's voice and his hand on her back. When Felicity turns into his arms, she tries to hide her teary eyes, but he gently raises her chin. "Hey," he repeats, but this time it's spoken with concern, his palms cradling her face. "What's going on?"

"It seems so wrong to just abandon everything you've built," Felicity says with poignant regret.

"We're out of options, Felicity," he gently reasons. "I can't risk your and Diggle's futures. In the eyes of the law, you're complicit in every mission. Every time I took a life."

"Intellectually, I understand," she  replies. "But a lot happened here. _We_ happened here."

Recognizing her nostalgia, Oliver wraps her in a protective embrace, his palm pressing her face to his chest, his head bent over hers. "We did," he murmurs into her hair.

"This is where I first bet my life on you, Oliver," Felicity confesses, calmed by his steady heartbeat.

There's such truth in her statement. For a world-class babbler, Felicity at times, speaks with eloquence that is beautiful in its simplicity. Stirred by her words, Oliver claims her lips with his own, in this cavernous place where they worked, brainstormed, argued, teased, sweated, grieved, bled. And now, loved. Maybe that was a fitting epitaph for the place where they began.

The annoying, simultaneous buzz of their burner phones interrupts them. It's so tempting to ignore the devices and lose themselves in each other's embrace, but in high-stakes times such as these, it's a luxury they can't afford.

Thoroughly vexed, Oliver hastily opens the screen to scans Laurel's text:

**SCPD has your 10-20. Get out NOW!**

**> \---->|<\----<**

There would be no rest this night, which could only be described as chaotic. While detectives and forensic teams tear The Foundry apart in a frenzied search for proof that Oliver Queen owns The Arrow's hood, Felicity and Laurel clear a path for his safe and public surrender to authorities. Through a series of phone calls, Felicity convinces Ray Palmer to provide his top-flight cadre of attorneys to represent Oliver.

"When this is over," Felicity notes, "We really should send Ray a fruit basket."

"I think he would rather have a more personal show of appreciation. From you. _Personally_ ," Oliver remarks suggestively as he watches the streets below from Laurel's apartment window.

"How did you know..." she inquires, confounded, reminding herself that The Arrow's reach should never be underestimated. "Well, he's not touching my fruit," she declares with indignation. Oliver makes a poor attempt to hide his smug satisfaction.

With an unabashed grin, she mildly scolds him, adding, "You don't have to be so cocksure."

To which he responds with a leering arch of his damned right eyebrow, which officially earns him the right to be certified as Ripley's Sexiest Homo Sapiens.

"Now stop distracting me with all that," she demands, gesturing vaguely at his entire body. "We have a lot to arrange to keep you from getting shot before we can lock you in a jail cell."

Suddenly, Oliver thrusts himself between Felicity and the foyer at the sound of the front door opening. He stands down as soon as they see Laurel enter, shrugging out of her coat and plunking her keys onto the credenza. It's after two o'clock in the morning and her weary demeanor reflects their own.

“Any luck?” Felicity asks, standing to stretch her back.

“I think everything is lined up so that Ollie can voluntarily surrender at the Courthouse tomorrow, if you have his attorney scheduled to meet him there,” Laurel explains, sinking into an overstuffed chair.

“Attorneys, plural,” Felicity clarifies, joining Oliver where he’s claimed a space on the sofa. “Oliver will be represented by Palmer Inc.’s legal dream team.”

“Oh, yeah. I love those guys,” Laurel comments, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

“You sure it’s okay if we hang here until morning?” Oliver asks. “I don’t want to put you in a bad position.”

Waving off his concerns, Laurel responds, “Oh, it’s fine. This is the last place they’ll look for Oliver Queen.”

With an echoing bang and a cacophony of shouts, a squadron of SWAT, policemen and Captain Lance swarm the room, tackling Oliver and roughly throwing him face-down on the rug, where he’s pinned. Hands raised in surrender, Felicity and Laurel face the barrels of automatic weapons aimed at their heads.  Controlling his urge to resist, Oliver lies in submission, fearful that his friends will be shot by a trigger-happy cop.

“Arms down!” Lance orders his team, avoiding the furious glare from his daughter. Then, standing above Oliver, he eagerly announces, “Oliver Queen, you’re under arrest for murder.”

**> \---->|<\----<**


	13. Pit of Despair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After weeks of their leader being locked up, Team Arrow springs Oliver from police custody. R'as al Ghul chips away at Oliver's personal identity. Pressure mounts for Oliver to surrender to The Demon's Head. A violent attack strikes close to home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration for this chapter was drawn from Stephen Amell's shattering performance in The Fallen [Season 3, Episode 20]. I wept the first time I watched it and when writing my vision for this story. I would "sinceriously" appreciate your willingness to share your reactions and thoughts.  
> The Princess Bride chapter title refers to the secret dungeon where Westley was tortured and held captive.  
> Thank you to those lovely readers who have so generously shared their reviews and kudos. You make a world of difference with your feedback and words of encouragement!

The ballistic arrowhead explodes in a spray of sparks and smoke, effectively blocking the police escort that leads the prisoner transport van, which fishtails to a halt. Roy, disguised as Arsenal, leaps to the asphalt and yanks open the double doors of the transport vehicle, firing a sedative dart into the necks of the driver and Quentin Lance. Diggle, at the wheel of the black SUV, shoots tranquilizer darts into responding police personnel who are returning fire. As a hail of bullets puncture the van, Roy slices the chain at Oliver's feet, freeing him to jump to street level, as the staccato rain of gunfire follows him and Arsenal. With his hands still manacled, Oliver dives into the open door of their rig, shouting, "Go! Go!"

Diggle burns rubber while Roy spikes the roadway with more trick arrows, spewing a smokescreen to aid their escape. Shooting a cable with his bow, he vaults toward the skyline, dividing the few cops left to give chase.

Having plunged head-first into the dark interior of the backseat, Oliver realizes his face has landed in a soft, comfortable lap. A decidedly feminine lap, judging from the shapely thighs beneath his cheek. Oh god, don't let this be Laurel. Or worse, Nyssa. As he slowly tilts his head to see the face above him, Felicity says, "Hi" with a small friendly wave.

"Hi," he answers, tempted to keep his face right where momentum brought him, but considering they're tearing through the backstreets of The Glades at an unsafe rate of speed, it seems advisable to get his head and his imagination out of Felicity's thighs. After righting himself on the bench seat, he scans the car's perimeter, but it appears that Digg has eluded their pursuers.

"Thanks, man," Oliver says to Digg.

"No problem. Well, that's not true. We've got a boatload of problems," Digg sighs as he expertly maneuvers through the narrow alleyways.

"We got a place to go?" Oliver wonders aloud.

"Hotel Nyssa," Felicity answers from her shadowed corner. "I can't wait."

He reaches for her hand in the dark, forgetting he's still restrained by manacles. After cooling his heels in a jail cell for more than three weeks, Oliver savors the closeness with Felicity.

"Nice bracelets," she remarks, slipping her hand into his and sliding closer so that their legs touch.

Diggle pulls up to a small nondescript brownstone on the outskirts of town. Lyla is parked nearby, her car engine running. "I'm going to leave you the SUV, Oliver, so you'll have wheels. Keys are in the ignition."

"Thanks, Digg. For everything," Oliver tells his partner. 

"Sure. Oh, I almost forgot," Digg says, leaving the front seat to pull a large pair of bolt cutters from the rear of the vehicle. He makes quick work of freeing Oliver from his handcuffs, tossing the broken chains to the floorboard.

"'Night, John," Felicity murmurs as he waves and strides away to meet his wife.

Oliver makes no move to exit the backseat and she senses that he needs time to decompress.

Felicity clears her throat before speaking. "I heard from Laurel this afternoon. The medical examiner has verified that Malcolm Merlyn died last week and his prints are a match to those the SCPD discovered in The Foundry."

"Meaning?" he asks.

"Meaning the district attorney will eventually drop all charges against you and should officially declare that Merlyn was The Arrow," Felicity explains.

His silence worries her. "Oliver, it may take some time, but your name will ultimately be cleared."

"What good will that do?" he responds, his voice harsher than he intends.

She looks thoughtfully at him, assessing his frame of mind.

"Felicity, I've lost everything," he seethes.  "My parents were both killed in front of me. My family's home and business are gone. R'as has destroyed the Arrow.” Then, in a quieter voice, he admits, “I don't know who I am anymore."

Felicity pivots to face him, placing her palms on his chest, her voice confident, vowing, "You're the man I ... I believe in. The man I've _always_ believed in. From the beginning. That may not mean much, but—"

"It means everything."

He reaches for her, his hands drawn to the sides of her neck, reveling in the velvet softness of her skin beneath his calloused fingers. He presses a grateful kiss to her temple and she melts into him, her head nestling into his shoulder.

"I'm afraid, Felicity," Oliver confesses, and she knows what it costs him to acknowledge his vulnerability. "I'm afraid R'as won't stop. Until he's broken me. Until he's destroyed everything and everyone I care about."

"We won't let that happen, Oliver," she fervently promises. "You have people— friends—who are here for you. You're not alone in this. And you're not responsible for everyone."

"But that's who I am, Felicity,” he protests. “I'm here to protect you, and Thea and—"

"Everyone else with a pulse," she laughs softly. "That _is_ who you are, Oliver. Your heroism is your saving grace. And it's what I love most about you. That you're willing to lay your life down as a shield, protecting those who rely on your strength and courage. When you doubt your identity or your purpose, Oliver, see yourself through my eyes. You’re our guardian. Our defender. Our warrior. Whether you're wearing a green hood and leather. Or a suit of armor. Or a loincloth." Felicity takes a cleansing breath, looking earnestly into his eyes. "Oliver, you're the hero of this story. No one can take that away from you. But even heroes need a posse to watch their backs."

Every word she's spoken is a balm for his soul, tethering him to what matters, grounding his perspective. "I need you, Felicity, to help me remember who I am," he says, anchoring his gaze with hers, intense despite the shadows.

"Anytime," she pledges with a sweet smile.

"But a loincloth? Really?" he teases, his lips just tantalizing breaths away.

"Hey, I have a very vivid fantasy life," she easily banters.

If she didn't before, Felicity has his undivided attention now. Intrigued, he asks, "Oh yeah? Featuring me?"

"Hmmm...Always you," she murmurs, initiating the anticipated kiss. When he lets her up to breathe, Felicity adds, "Only you."

Then, she completely surrenders to Oliver's kisses, inviting him to slowly drive her out of her mind.

**> \---->|<\----<**

"Oliver Queen."

Nyssa's voice invades his sleep, her ominous tone triggering alarms that bring him to full alertness. He quickly rises from a makeshift bed on the sofa, scanning the moonlit room for intruders, but detecting no immediate threat.

"What's happened?" he questions, pulling on his boots.

"One of my lieutenants reports that The Demon's Head has been seen," she explains.

"Where?"

"Near your sister's home," she says, urgency in her expression.

"Felicity!" he calls out.

"I'm here," she answers, appearing at his side. "I heard. Go."

Without a second glance, Oliver bolts from the brownstone with Nyssa as his shadow. Racing through the side streets of Starling City, he misses the speed and agility of his Ducati. He knows Roy is with Thea so he's struggling to control his anxiety, with marginal success. In his gut, he knows this is bad.

They find Roy first. He's literally spiked to the loft wall with a pair of short-bladed swords, stabbed through each side of his upper chest, his weight hanging from his collar bones. Oliver searches for the pulsepoint in his protege's neck, detecting a thready beat.

"I have him," Nyssa says, stepping up to support Roy's weight.

"Thea!" Oliver shouts for his sister, stalking into the great room.

The sight of his little sister, lying lifeless among the shattered shards of the glass table, amidst a lake of blood, shocks him with the same degree of horror felt when fragments of his father's brain and skull sprayed across his face that terrible day on the ocean. In the past eight years, Oliver's regularly been exposed to graphic acts of violence — as a victim and perpetrator—  but this savage attack pierces him to his marrow in a visceral, excruciating way.

As he drops heavily to his knees at Thea's side, his hands tremble and he's light-headed, fighting his body's reaction. It would be so easy to blackout. But he can't. Thea needs him. He draws a deep breath and becomes violently ill, lurching to the side, away from her, but at least his clammy weakness subsides enough that he can move past his initial paralysis.

"Thea," he cries, his voice breaking with grief. She's sprawled within the table's broken wooden frame, like a wounded Snow White in a smashed glass coffin. Instinctively, Oliver lifts her from the wreckage, clinging to her limp, small figure, his broad shoulders racked with sobs. He's vaguely aware of a tall newcomer nearby and then Felicity's voice, speaking in subdued, even tones. Saying his name. Asking him to let go. To get her help. Then her hands are on his, loosening his desperate grip on Thea. Finally, his eyes lift to hers and cobalt connects with azure, sorrow finds solace, the lost is led from darkness. Oliver submits to her voice, following Felicity's every instruction as she guides him like an orphaned child in the wilderness.

**> \---->|<\----<**

As Felicity hears Oliver's engine turn over, she's already making calls, the first one to Barry, in case they need care from a private physician or immediate transportation across a long distance. She experiences a moment's guilt at their recent reliance on him for "flash" help, but maybe they can make it up to his team in the future when it’s Central City’s turn to be overwhelmed by a super villain.

How did this become my life, she wonders for the umpteenth time as she yanks on clothing and shoes, tying her loose hair in her signature ponytail. She's just barely dressed when The Flash instantly appears at the front door.

After sharing a quick hug, Felicity apologizes for again interrupting his life, but he charitably assures her he's always available to help. Because she's anxious to get to The Loft, Barry whisks her there and she pauses to make sure her clothes have not ignited, because well, that sometimes happens.

Neither Felicity or Barry is prepared for the carnage they encounter. Roy moans in mindless pain on the floor as Nyssa tends to his multiple chest wounds. Above him, the wall is streaked with rivulets of his blood. But it is Nyssa's concerned glances toward the great room that warn Felicity that there is worse to come.

The gruesome spectacle of Oliver hunched over Thea's broken body combines with the tang of vomit and blood to stagger Felicity, who's steadied by Barry's quick reflexes, clutching her arm. But he's as shaken as she is.

"Dear God..." she murmurs, horrified by the heartbreak at her feet.

Fearing they're too late to help Thea, Felicity edges closer to Oliver. She's never seen him this damaged. So utterly wrecked by shock and grief. But, she reminds herself, he must have suffered like this when he witnessed the brutal deaths of his parents and Shado. But this is Oliver's little sister, so vibrant, so young, so beautiful. It's _obscene_ to see her in this condition, treated with such callous brutality, her life tossed away as if she was a broken toy. To use her as a mere token to control her brother.

Felicity exchanges a lost look with Barry, knowing it falls to them to make decisions in this grim situation. She wills herself to crouch beside Oliver, tentatively touching his curved back, seeking connection, but he's immersed in trauma, as if he and Thea are alone together in a separate, horrific reality.

"Oliver," she says quietly. "I'm here with you. We're here to help Thea."

There's no sign he hears her. But instinct tells her to keep talking in hopes there will be a flicker of recognition. A familiar voice to break through his aggrieved daze.

Barry silently signals that he is taking Roy for emergency treatment. She nods in understanding, reaching with one hand for Oliver's clenched grip while she touches Thea's neck in search of a pulse. It's there, light and uneven, but enough to restore hope. And a new imperative to get Thea out of her brother's arms and into a trauma center.

Felicity kneels beside Oliver, leaning into him to make as much direct skin contact as possible, wanting to link with every one of his senses, all the while reaching for him with her steady, reassuring voice. "Oliver, Thea needs a doctor. Can you let us help her? Oliver? I need you to look at me. I know you can do that. Oliver, I need you to see me."

Barry has returned, positioning himself next to Thea, ready to scoop her up and run.

Felicity massages Oliver’s hands, encouraging his fingers to loosen. Then, as if he's just become aware of her, Oliver turns his face to hers and the pain in his eyes wrecks her. There is such naked hurt there. His eyes are bloodshot, his wet lashes spiked with tears. And he looks so damned lost.

"Oh, Oliver," she mourns, her own tears spilling now. She cradles his face with her palms, lightly caressing his face. Barry's hands have resumed the effort to release Thea by relaxing Oliver's firm hold.

When Oliver speaks to her, Felicity is unnerved by the deep ache in his voice. "It's Thea," he rasps. "He's killed her."

Keeping his gaze locked with hers, Felicity leans closer, calmly explaining, "No, Oliver, Thea's alive, but we need to take her where they can help her."

Barry attempts to shift Thea into his arms, causing Oliver to jerk his attention back to his sister, but Felicity, with gentle pressure, returns his face to hers. "Oliver, we can't wait." She pleads with him, "Thea needs help now. You've got to let go, baby."

It's as if his strength finally fails him and Thea rolls into Barry's waiting arms. Oliver falls into Felicity and she nearly tips over from his sudden weight. But she slides onto her hip, leaning her back against a nearby sofa. He buries his face in her chest, sobbing uncontrollably, his arms clinging to her waist. Felicity bears the burden of his grief, stroking his back, his face, the taut muscles of his neck.

As her heart bleeds with his, Felicity lifts her weary eyes, stricken by the four archaic words, painted on the wall above them, in Thea's blood:

**"YOUR LIFE FOR HERS."**

**> \---->|<\----<**


	14. Rotten Miracles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Thea clings to life, Oliver's friends rally to support the devastated Queen family. Felicity picks Nyssa's brain and musters the troops. Oliver makes a critical decision to save his sister.

"So... what does it mean?" Felicity asks, her gaze leading five sets of eyes to track toward Nyssa, who stands sentry in the darkest corner of the Palmer Technologies boardroom. It is nearly midnight and none of them has slept since Roy and Thea were savagely attacked the night before at the Loft. Gathered around the table are Felicity, John Diggle, a pale Roy Harper, Barry Allen, Laurel Lance and Ray Palmer.

The disturbing image projected on the over-sized screen and the subject of Felicity's question are the four bloody words scrawled above a mortally-wounded Thea Queen. As for herself, Felicity cannot bear to see the vivid reminder of the attacks and their gory aftermath. Instead she looks to Roy, whose eyes are downcast as well. He shouldn't be here anyway, with his serious injuries. Although, in spite of being cured of Mirakiru poisoning, he seems to heal remarkably quickly.

"It is the devil's offer," Nyssa declares, intently studying the photograph.

"Offer of what?" Digg asks.

Turning to Oliver's team, the dark amazon elaborates, saying, "My father offers to save Thea Queen's life in exchange for Oliver's fealty."

"She's being kept alive by machines," Laurel protests. "She's too far gone to be saved."

Her bluntness triggers discomfort among Thea's friends. Roy flinches as if he's been cut.

Realizing the harshness of her comment, Laurel lowers her head, pouting as she mutters, "Well, I'm sorry, but you all know it's the truth."

"The Demon's Head offers the use of The Lazarus Pit," Nyssa continues. "The waters are said to heal instantly, but with grave consequences."

"What consequences?" Felicity asks, thinking that, of course, any miracles offered by the Demon would have to be rotten ones.

"The Pit twists the souls of those who are tempted to use its powers," Nyssa explains. "Its enchanted waters have kept my father alive for well over a century, but his once-noble spirit has been poisoned by its corruption."

"But if Thea just needs the Pit one time, maybe she would only be a little evil, like cheating on her income tax? Or not recycling?" Ray Palmer hopefully suggests.

"She will pay a price," Nyssa asserts in chilling tones. "She will be infected with blood lust. If your friend is baptized by the Pit, it will not be the Thea Queen you know who emerges."

Felicity and Digg exchange concerned glances at the grim revelation. Roy sighs, his eyes falling closed as if he cannot endure another blow.

"So what will happen to Oliver?" Felicity asks Nyssa. "If he surrenders to R'as?"

"He has already been tested and proven worthy by surviving The Demon's blade," Nyssa foretells. "He will undergo the cleansing ritual of fire and water."

"Oh God, I hate that I have to ask because I know I'm going to hate the answer," Felicity moans, dropping her head into her hands. Then, with a heavy sigh, she raises her chin and peers at Nyssa, asking, "So what's this ritual involve?"

"Oliver Queen will renounce his ties to your world, surrendering his identity," Nyssa proclaims. "Then he will be branded by fire and drink the waters of the Pit."

Unnerved, Felicity blurts, "But you said it was poison!"

"If he drinks of the Pit, he will be lost to you forever. Oliver Queen will cease to be."

Felicity pivots, turning her attention to Barry, who suddenly sits up straighter in his seat, as if he's about to be called on to speak to the class. "Barry, do you think you can flash into Nanda Parbat to collect a water sample from The Pit?"

"Um, yes," he answers. Felicity continues to stare at him, finally raising a perfect eyebrow.

"Oh!" Barry exclaims, jumping to his feet. "You mean like now?"

"If not sooner," Felicity replies with a sweet smile, adding, "Please?"

Barry morphs in a red blur, reappearing in his Flash suit before leaving again in another streak of sparks.

"That guy's a fire hazard if you ask me," Diggle mutters, perpetually disconcerted by the scarlet speedster.

Felicity's remarkable mind continues to attack the problem, her neurons firing as fast as Barry's feet. Her thoughtful gaze settles on Ray, who attentively waits for her inquiry. "Ray, how's your supply of white dwarf star matter?"

Her question stumps the others, based on their puzzled expressions.

"I have about ten grams, but I'm negotiating for a more steady supply," Palmer reports with an air of optimism.

"And how's the explosion risk looking?" Felicity asks, oblivious to the looks of alarm telegraphed around the table.

"Oh, that. Yeah, that's pretty much still happening on a regular basis," Ray confesses, remaining strangely cheerful considering his outright admission that his experiments habitually blow up. "I think it’s a problem of the compression destabilizing the molecular structure."

"Okay... Are you willing to work the bugs out with help from Cisco Ramon at S.T.A.R. Labs?" Felicity suggests.

"Sure!" Ray agrees with a grin, "The more the merrier." Felicity marvels at his Pollyanna personality, concluding he is undoubtedly the polar opposite of Oliver.

Digg drags the conversation to more practical concerns, asking, "Laurel, do we know if the local police are still after Oliver? Since he escaped their custody. I mean, he's still kind of on the lam," he reminds the group.

"Mr. Palmer's legal team has been quite adamant in their demands that all charges against Oliver be dropped," Laurel explains, with a nod toward Ray. "The DA concurs since there's no incriminating evidence. And, in light of the recent tragedy, it sounds like SCPD is going to quietly stand down. Much to my father's chagrin."

"So, one less thing to worry about," Digg comments, trying to hold onto this positive development.

Marshalling her emotions, Felicity stands and clears her throat, adjusting the frames of her glasses, a nervous habit. "This ultimately comes down to what Oliver wants."

"He will want to save Thea," Digg states flatly.  "At any cost."

"I agree," Laurel affirms with a touch of bitterness. "Classic Oliver — the Martyr."

"Team Arrow stands for those who can't," Felicity asserts, her voice resolved and earnest in the hushed building. "And right now, it's Oliver and Thea who need us to be strong for them. So I — _we —_ need to know who will stand with us, come what may."

One by one, they rise, with Laurel the last to take to her feet. Nyssa strides forward to be counted among them.

"It's too soon to know exactly what will be required of each of us. But we have no delusions that this will be easy," Felicity adds. "Even with Malcolm out of the picture, R'as and the league are formidable enemies. We can't lose sight of what we're fighting for — Thea's life and Oliver's soul."

**> \---->|<\----<**

When Felicity reaches the intensive care unit of Starling General, she finds Oliver alone in the small waiting room, his head propped against the wall with his eyes closed. Shifting her weight to the balls of her feet, she quietly approaches, easing into an empty cushion on the sofa next to him. It's hard for her to believe that they were making out like two hormonal teenagers in the backseat of a car just last night. Her lips tingle with the memory of his scorching kisses. Yet here they are again, in a hospital, emotionally separated by another violent attack that has befallen one of their own. Felicity can't contain her sigh of regret.

"I'm not asleep," he murmurs, his exhausted eyes now open. He turns to face her without lifting his head from the drywall.

"Any change?" she asks her voice scarcely above a whisper.

He barely shakes his head, adding, "They're going to do a brain scan. To see if there's any..." He can't finish the sentence. In surrender, Oliver toes off his shoes and curls onto his side, resting his head in the softness of Felicity's lap. The back of his head is pressed against her lower abdomen, his face nestled high on her thighs near the joining with her pelvis. It's intimate and comforting, fulfilling his primal craving for connection with her.

"All I ever wanted to do, as Thea's big brother, was to protect her," he confesses quietly. "But I've failed."

Felicity lightly strokes his hair. Oliver reaches for her hand, capturing it between his broad palm and his chest.

"Oliver," she begins, "I need to tell you some things."

Felicity explains the details of R'as offer, as well as everything Nyssa shared about the Pit. She does not mention the method R'as used to communicate his terms. Shock protected Oliver from absorbing the cruel details at the crime scene. There's no point in adding more horror to his trauma.

Cradled in her warm softness, Oliver listens, relying on Felicity's words and her interpretation, hating his choices, but grateful to have an alternative to watching his dying sister subsist on life support. He's simply too tired, too emotionally wrecked, to make decisions. Succumbing to exhaustion and trusting her to keep faithful vigil, he allows himself a brief escape into sleep with Felicity as his pillow.

When he wakes, there will be impossible decisions to make, the kind of verdicts that carry lifelong, permanent meaning. But in these few haunted hours, beneath Felicity's loving hands, Oliver recedes from the pain of seeing the last days of the Queen name.

**> \---->[<\----<**

When the sun rises on Starling City, Oliver attacks the day with clear vision and steel in his spine. He's on the move, making phone calls and medical arrangements to transport Thea to Nanda Parbat in the heart of Asia. He is somewhat buoyed by the latest results of her brain scan which indicate more activity than the doctors expected. Diggle returns to the loft to get Oliver's passport and pack his luggage; it was just too soon for Oliver to revisit their apartment, even though Felicity has had it professionally cleaned.

The trinity of Team Arrow — Oliver, Felicity, Diggle — wait at the municipal airport as the medics load Thea aboard Palmer's Lear jet. Oliver flashes back to a week ago when he and Thea traveled on this same Gulfstream to rescue Felicity from Lian Yu. His chest clinches painfully when he compares Thea's present incapacitated condition with the healthy, vibrant girl she was only days ago.

Felicity's hand on his forearm breaks his dark reverie. She presses a bottle of water and tablets into his hands, instructing, "I need you to start taking these now."

Eyeing the pills, Oliver asks, "What's this for?"

"In case you can't avoid drinking the Kool-Aid," she explains, adding, "Oliver, the Pit has high levels of manganese metal, among other mystery ingredients."

Felicity offers a full bottle of the same tablets, "Take these every day. After Thea's been immersed, start her on the pills."

He reads the label, questioning, "Para-aminosalicylic acid?"

"It's a relative of aspirin. We think it will help prevent what's known as manganese madness. The symptoms include violent acts of aggression," Felicity relates.

"Blood lust," Oliver concludes, his understanding rewarded by her solemn nod of agreement.

"I've also packed your herbs from the island," Diggle adds. "Since we don't know exactly what kind of voodoo they do."

"Thanks," Oliver says, once again overwhelmed by the backing of his amazing partners.

"Hey, man, be safe," Digg urges with a powerful squeeze of his friend's shoulder. "I'm going to make sure everything got loaded," he continues, heading off toward the luxury jet.

Glancing toward the sleek Gulfstream, Oliver remarks, "I guess we owe your boss another fruit basket?"

Stepping into his embrace, Felicity replies, "Oh, we're way past baskets by now. I'm thinking we're in orchard territory." She takes shelter in his arms. This harrowing goodbye is entirely too similar to the last time he left her to face R'as al Ghul.

"Felicity," he begins, filling his lungs with the smell of her hair, her skin, simply  _her_. "I'm sorry we never..."

"Stop. I can't lose you to that evil bastard again. I can’t stand to think of you becoming his faithful zombie," she murmurs, her words falling in painful breaths against his neck. Then, in a pleading whisper, she implores, "It's not just Thea's life you're fighting for. It's yours too. Fight to come back to us, Oliver. Fight to come back to me."

Oliver leans back so that he can see her face, framing her face with his hands, his vivid eyes gripping hers. "Felicity, my heart beats for you alone. I'm not going to reward that monster for what he's done to Thea. As soon as she's out of danger, I'm taking The Demon's Head, his legacy be damned."

Tears of relief sting Felicity's eyes, prompting him to softly kiss her, bracing her with his courage, flooding her soul with his strength, sealing her future at his side.

Then, slowly releasing her, Oliver turns and walks away, carrying their tomorrows on his broad shoulders.

**> \---->|<\----<**

Watching the jet disappear into the western horizon, Felicity and Diggle stand side by side at the terminal's floor-to-ceiling windows.

"We have a ride?" Felicity asks, her gaze still latched on the tiny speck lifting into the clouds.

His arms resolutely crossed over his expansive chest, Diggle nods, answering, "Lyla has arranged for an ARGUS plane with a full security detail. Departure at sixteen hundred tomorrow."

“Tomorrow it is.”

**> \---->|<\----<**


	15. Storming the Castle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad men. Good men. Beautifulest Ladies. Chases. Escapes. Lies. Truths. Passion. Miracles... and did I mention it's "A Kissing Book"?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***IMPORTANT*** The rating on this story has changed to Mature so please read responsibly. I don't consider it smut-level, but there are adult themes included from here on.

When Felicity awakens, she's disoriented and embarrassed by the spot of drool she's left on Diggle's wide bicep, where she's apparently been napping. "Sorry, John," she apologizes, dabbing at his wet sleeve with the edges of a thin, plane-issued blanket.

Smiling down on her with his usual patience, Digg says, "That's all right, Felicity. Every shirt I own has had drool, spit up or worse happen to it."

"Yeah, but it's cute when it's done by a baby," Felicity mutters, combing her fingers through her frazzled hair.

Digg pats her knee, with a quiet chuckle, saying, "Felicity, you're kind of cute too." He stands up, stretching stiff muscles. "I hate overseas flights," he complains, working out the kinks in his joints as he strolls through the cabin. 

Team Arrow, along with Nyssa's crew and a sleeping Roy are airborne, somewhere over the Pacific Ocean, in an ARGUS jet, which is tricked out with an odd mix of technology, high-powered weaponry and yet, a comfortable cabin. Such an improvement over the stripped-down plane that carried her and Malcolm to Lian Yu, Felicity recalls with a shudder, tugging the blanket a little higher on her shoulders.

Felicity's lost track of day and night, the hours and dates blurring as much as the various land masses far below them. In the past week, she's crisscrossed the globe, racking up more air miles than she's totaled in her entire lifetime. Likewise, she cannot remember her last " _normal_ " day, one that was not driven by some form of crisis.

As if to underline that fact, Nyssa al Ghul slides into the seat facing Felicity. It's the most casual, modern attire Felicity has ever seen the assassin wear: black jeans with a wine-colored sweater and tall leather boots. And not a weapon in sight, although Felicity would bet her Dr. Who Blu-ray collection that Nyssa’s got _something lethal_ hidden under there. An awkward moment hangs between them with neither knowing how to begin a conversation. Felicity has no trouble talking _ever_ , but her usual style of spontaneous babble seems an unwise choice when facing the deadly-serious, full-blooded heiress to the Demon.

It is Nyssa who finally speaks, saying, "Oliver Queen has spoken with me. Before he left for the kingdom."

"Oh? That's.... interesting," Felicity responds, selecting her oblique verbiage carefully.

"He has tasked me with the safe return of his sister as soon as she is awakened by the Pit," Nyssa relates.

This news hits Felicity hard. The fact that Oliver arranged for Nyssa to retrieve Thea means he is not convinced he can escape the control of the Demon's Head although it shouldn't be a surprise that he would take no chances concerning his sister's rescue.

"He also spoke of you, Felicity Smoak."

"But he doesn't know we're following him to... the kingdom," Felicity replies, puzzled by the turn in the conversation.

"He asked that I pledge to serve as your protector," Nyssa reveals, a glint of genuine concern in her dark eyes.

"For how long?" Felicity whispers, her voice tightening as she absorbs Nyssa’s possible meaning and Oliver’s intent.

"I am foresworn to guard your life, Felicity Smoak, until the return of your beloved," Nyssa pledges solemnly.

"But why?" Felicity asks. "Why would you make that kind of commitment to me?"

Long moments pass before Nyssa entrusts her thoughts to words.

"Every sunrise, I reach for Ta-er al-Safar. With each sunset, I mourn that she is no longer at my side," Nyssa confesses painfully. "With mine own eyes, I have seen the love between you and your Oliver Queen. I pledge myself as your guardian because my service honors the memory of the one love I can never be with. Can never forget."

"You're a rare woman, Nyssa," Felicity earnestly observes, deeply touched by heartfelt revelations from a dangerous individual whose complexity continues to mystify her. "Thank you for the promises you've made. To Oliver. And to me."

"I would tell you one more truth," Nyssa declares, her obsidian eyes impossible to read. "Do not forsake the chance to lie with him. It is the sorrowful fact we tend to learn too late. All our nights together are numbered."

And with that, the enigmatic assassin rises and returns to the farthest, darkest corner of the cabin.

Holy frack. _Did Nyssa al Ghul just tell me to have sex with Oliver_? Felicity wonders in amazement.

**> \---->|<\----<**

Thea Queen's mortal wounds have vanished, washed away by baptism in the Lazarus Pit, leaving no trace of her grievous injuries. Oliver will never forget the wild, soaking-wet girl who leapt screaming into his arms after he lowered her into the mystical, troubled waters. The temple's high priestess immediately drugged his feral sister with an ancient form of morphine and she still sleeps peacefully as he watches over her. Following Felicity's instructions, Oliver has already given her the serum form of the para-aminosalicylic acid – or PAS – to neutralize the Pit’s toxic metals. He’s anxious for his sister’s emerald green eyes to open, to recognize him, to remember her own name, so that Nyssa can steal her away from this God-forsaken place.

Now he waits, replaying the words of R'as al Ghul which are the exact threats Nyssa had predicted her father would employ.

"I have fulfilled my end of our arrangement. Now is the time for you to make peace with yours," R'as had reminded him after Thea was healed. "Should you be tempted to break our agreement, be assured that I am prepared to level your beloved city to bedrock."

As his ally, Nyssa has warned him of The Demon's tactics. "If you defy him, he will threaten to destroy your home and your people. If you obey, he will order _you_ to destroy your home and your people as proof of your loyalty. You cannot win."

"I cannot win if I follow his rules," Oliver had conceded to her, before ruefully adding, "But I have a history of living on my own terms. I don't always play well with others."

**> \---->|<\----<**

Harsh, mountainous terrain forces the ARGUS plane to land six miles from the primeval fortress of Nanda Parbat. The security team stays with the military-grade jet while Roy, Felicity, Diggle, Nyssa and her lieutenants load into ARGUS Jeeps for the last leg of their arduous journey.

"Why can't this job ever take us somewhere wonderful?" Felicity moans as the frigid winds invade her jacket. "Like Paris in springtime? Or New York City for Fashion Week? Or, oh — Comic Con _anywhere!_ "

Diggle gives her a good-natured squeeze as they pack their supplies and weapons into the transport vehicles. They will have to hike and climb the last two miles, so they need to consider how much gear they can realistically carry.

By the time they reach the back side of the kingdom, they've climbed more than two thousand feet in elevation. The air is noticeably thinner compared to what they're accustomed with snow sealing the deep mountain crags.

"How much farther?" Roy asks as they take a break to rest and drink. He's still pale and weakened by the trauma of the past few days.

"We will enter through the catacombs that way," Nyssa explains, pointing toward the nearby mountain face, pockmarked with caves. "There are hidden passages not known to the men of the league. More of my League allies wait there for us."

"Then lead on, my sisters," Felicity encourages a bemused Nyssa and her lieutenants as she jauntily pulls her backpack onto her shoulders and stands, antsy to keep moving in Oliver’s direction.

In this primeval world of stone and wood, where there are no relatable touchstones, Felicity faces a challenge to her identity. Who is she without the mainstays of her career? Without her brilliant, MIT-powered resume? So much of her self-worth is tied to technology, to her education and her prowess as a Wi-Fi diva. It's the same visceral question that was nearly her undoing on Lian Yu. If she's honest with herself, Felicity at times hides behind a fortress of screens and keyboards to camouflage her loneliness and her unrequited feelings for Oliver. Being completely and suddenly unplugged forces Felicity Smoak to remember — and embrace — the unique human qualities at her core.

**> \---->|<\----<**

Thea wakes at sunrise, calm but disoriented. Her eyes are clear and there's no evidence of the terrible wounds recently suffered at the hands of R'as al Ghul. Thankfully, she remembers nothing of the attack, the hospital or The Pit. Her first words, "Ollie, where are we?" engulf her brother in a wave of relief.

Thea has difficulty understanding why they're in a primitive yet plushly-appointed room in central Asia, but she trusts Oliver when he tells her she required special treatment here after being injured. He administers another dose of PAS and feeds her a portion of his island herbs before also taking them himself. She soon drifts back into untroubled sleep.

Oliver moves into the large adjoining chamber, designated his "state room" as Warith al Ghul, heir of the Demon. Opulent tapestries and silks hang in the richly-adorned bedroom. A large burning fireplace offsets the chill from the ancient stone walls.

Oliver opens the heavy outer door of oak, guarded by two League warriors.

"Tell R'as al Ghul that his heir desires the company of a beautiful concubine," Oliver commands with a suggestive leer that would put Jack Nicholson to shame.

**> \---->|<\----<**

"Seriously?" Felicity squeaks. "How many layers does it take to wrap one little woman?"

Inside Nyssa's hidden chambers, Team Arrow relaxes as two "women of the court" add the finishing veils to Felicity's disguise as a Nanda Parbat concubine. She's cocooned in miles of colorful silks with pretty jeweled chains of gold and tiny bells on a fine chain at her waist.

"I think it's hot," Roy remarks as he watches the spectacle while scarfing grapes from a large basket of fruits, cheeses, nuts and dried meats. Diggle smacks him upside the head with a beefy palm.

Felicity secretly agrees with Roy because pure silk against bare skin feels pretty damn sexy. In private, she'd tried to reason with the silent women who dressed her but it's hard to make a case on behalf of your Victoria's Secret underwear with cave-dwelling ladies living in the stone age. Although Felicity has to admit that her commando state sparks a seductive undercurrent that sends an empowering sizzle of heat through her.

It's been a long two years, partnered day and night with a closed-off, complicated man who stole her heart from the beginning. But his latest brush with death has shattered the shield separating them. The new romantic depth in their relationship occasionally makes her wonder when the joker of love is going to jump out and tell her she's been punked. But overriding her fits of doubt is a growing confidence in herself and in Oliver, that they've both matured and are steadily conquering their trust issues. After an epic tango of three steps forward and two steps back, it finally feels right to consummate their dance in each other's arms.

So, on this night, in this ancient citadel, Felicity comes to a decision: It’s past time for a pantiless, silk-wrapped encounter with her crush, her reason for surviving, her first and last true love — Oliver Queen.

**> \---->|<\----<**

The pair of royal guards admits the veiled women to Al Sah-Him's stateroom, lit only by candles and the massive stone fireplace. Half-asleep, Oliver rises from the bed where he's been waiting for Thea's rescue team. He instantly locks on Nyssa, the taller woman, and pays scant attention to the second "concubine" who demurely keeps her kohl-lined eyes downcast.

Dropping her veil, Nyssa's sharp eyes scan the lavish room before coming back to his. "Oliver Queen,” she pronounces, “It pleases me to see you still alive in my father's kingdom."

A smile at her expense briefly ghosts across Oliver's face before he replies, saying, "It pleases me that you have arrived to rescue my sister."

"She is fully healed?" Nyssa asks, glancing toward the sleeping figure in the adjacent chamber.

His eyes linger on Thea, answering, "It seems her wounds are healed and she recognizes me. So I believe it's time to move her to a safer place, out of the reach of R'as al Ghul."

Nyssa nods and, as a woman of action, immediately moves forward, leading her veiled companion into Thea's room, dropping the heavy tapestry that serves as a door to separate them from Oliver’s view. He can hear muffled female voices as they wake and tend to his sister. It's a comforting sound, reminding Oliver of his idyllic childhood when his days were spent in the company of women: Thea, his mother and Raisa.

When the tapestry lifts, Thea enters with Nyssa, both of them wearing vibrant layers of lustrous silks. Thea's almond-shaped, green eyes shine with tears as she closes the distance to her brother. He envelops her in a protective, emotional hug as he clings to the living proof that his sister's health and life have been fully restored. For a fleeting moment, Oliver experiences passing guilt for his intended betrayal of R'as al Ghul, until he reminds himself that his adversary is Voldemort's evil twin. Felicity would love that, he thinks, with a sudden twinge of longing.

Turning his attention back to Thea, he asks,"Are you okay?" as Thea pulls back to give him a familiar smile, so like their mother's.

"Yeah, I think so," she answers hoarsely. "I don't remember much after we got home from the island."

"It's just as well," he murmurs, kissing her temple and closing his eyes as he's assailed by painful memories of Thea on life support. "Nothing good to remember. Until now."

Nyssa paces impatiently near the outer door, her amazon bearing in strange contrast with the concubine garb. Oliver is certain, beneath the silken finery, she is armed to the teeth, a belief that goes a long way in reassuring him.

"I guess it's time to go," Thea says, smoothing her layers as a look of worry crosses her face. "I don't understand why you're not coming with us, Ollie."

He tries to lighten her concern by tugging her veil and joking, "Because I'd never pull off that fetching disguise."

Thea throws him her usual look of exasperation, complete with an indignant hand on her hip.

"Thea, I'll be back as soon as I can," Oliver promises. "But I can't focus on the mission until I know you're safe."

She doesn't like his answer and is working up her argument when Nyssa intervenes, declaring, "Thea Queen, it is time to reclaim your life. And there is another who awaits you."

In no-nonsense fashion, Nyssa steps forward to secure the veil hiding Thea's features before re-fastening her own. "Oliver Queen, I have kept my oath with you. On the morrow, we will face our fate with valor and honor."

Oliver acknowledges his ally's accord with a slight nod, grateful and relieved to entrust his sister's life to the strong — and gutsy — hands of Nyssa al Ghul.

**> \---->|<\----<**

When Felicity enters Oliver's chambers with Nyssa, it doesn't occur to her that he might not recognize her. But he only has eyes for the female assassin he expects to serve as his sister's liberator and guardian. And in his defense, Oliver has no reason to anticipate his IT girl/friend’s appearance in Nanda Parbat like a veiled genie out of her bottle.

Now that the initial surprise has subsided, Felicity begins to enjoy the seductive notion of a bit of role-play so she intentionally avoids eye contact with him. She’s fully aware that the instant Oliver connects his steely gaze with her crystal blue peepers, the jig will be up.

Seeing Thea's transformation stuns Felicity. Although this was the whole point of bringing the mortally-injured girl to the Lazarus Pit in this ancient remote place, Felicity never expected such a miraculous and complete cure. While helping Thea dress in the spare outfit, Felicity can scarcely believe that the mangled, bloody body she'd seen only days ago, doesn't bear a single scar from her doomed fight against the Demon's sword. Likewise, a vibrant, animated Thea moves with her normal lithe agility. Judging from the look in Nyssa's eyes, even the stalwart assassin is somewhat taken aback by the remarkable changes.

Before Thea leaves her chambers, Felicity presses a fresh supply of the PAS pills into her hand, emphasizing the drug's importance in her recovery without addressing the reason — preventing the onset of blood lust. Then, she pulls Oliver’s sister into a poignant goodbye hug.

Although it goes against her affectionate nature, Felicity knows better than to attempt a hug with Nyssa, who might react violently — _and painfully_ — so she settles for a wave of her fingers and sincere thank you. Nyssa never questions Felicity's decision to stay with Oliver. Once again, Felicity is stricken by the assassin's distinct brand of integrity and perceptive wisdom. Surely, these traits were part of why Sara called her beloved.

**> \---->|<\----<**

When Oliver sees the veiled, curvaceous woman silhouetted in the doorway to Thea's room, he’s astonished by his momentary flash of primal desire, immediately chased by pangs of remorse. What's the matter with him? Sex with a stranger should be the last thing on his mind considering where he is and what's at stake. Plus, he and Felicity are gradually deepening their relationship, nurturing the possibilities that have always existed between them. He's finally outgrown his immature lusty habit of seizing every sweet temptation. He's got no intention of betraying Felicity's trust by bedding a mysterious wench he'll never see again.

So... what does Oliver do with this lovely creature who probably doesn't understand English, Mandarin or Russian? But he can’t just stand here, gaping — _and drooling_ — at her thinly-draped figure that leaves little to his starved imagination.

"Um, I'm sorry," he stutters. "I forgot you were here. Nyssa was supposed to include you in her plan to... and you don't understand a word I'm saying." Oliver sighs, scrubbing his hand across the back of his neck before trying a different tack. He tentatively steps a bit closer to at least make eye contact.  At his approach, she lifts her chin so that the firelight glistens in her shadowed, heavily-lined eyes.

Something draws Oliver nearer. His brow furrows in concentration as he stares intently through the semi-darkness. The closer he comes to her, the more Oliver is convinced they share a connection. _He feels it_ , instinctively reaching for her, pulling her against him. She fits perfectly in his arms, just like...

"Felicity?"

With gentle hands, Oliver raises her face up to meet his, her lashes slowly lifting so that blue eyes lock on both ends of their breathless gaze. His fingers unclasp the veil masking her soft smile, framed by the dimples he recognizes, the sweet lips he loves to taste.

"Felicity," he breathes her name into his kiss, like a prayer of thanks that she has come to him in this hopeless place. He should be angry, lecturing her for putting herself in the middle of this nightmare, within the grasp of a twisted barbarian, abandoning the relative safety of home. But he just can't pretend he doesn't want her here, her satin skin touching his, her sighs falling into his tender places.

Oliver’s palms skim across and down the sheer sheath of silk, his fingers tantalized and tempted by the seamless feel of _nothing but bare skin_ beneath her gossamer wrappings. "Felicity, you're not wearing..." His sentence gets swallowed by her affirmative, luscious lips boldly stealing his.

He should stop this, Oliver tells himself. Adamantly. It's the wrong time. The wrong location. There are armed League guards literally at the door. He's about to surrender to R'as, be branded and baptized as Al-Sah-Him, warith al Ghul. He can't guarantee her safety. Or that he'll be at her side as long as he needs to — _wants to_ — be. But, dear God, she tastes, feels and smells incredible. Against him, above him, beneath him. Her moans of pleasure and want blend with his to drown out reason. They're both carried to a sensual place where lovers go, when words and intellect aren't enough to conduct the heat that burns between them.

Perhaps there will never come a perfect time or space for them. When no one is injured. Hunted by the law or the lawbreakers, or both. Where they're in a sane, safe circumstance that's set apart from the mean realities of their lives. When they won't be pulled apart by the needs of the victims who cannot stand alone.

Ditching his guilt and doubt, Oliver Queen lays it all down. The burdens and obligations of his life as The Arrow. Fear of the trials, demands and separation that tomorrow will bring. To just live and love in this hour made sacred by their mutual trust and desire. To just _be_ _with_ Felicity. To give her communion with his body and soul, worship her with his touch, bathe her in sweet erotic sensation and claim this last beautiful part of her. As surely as she now owns all of him.

**> \---->|<\-----<**


	16. I'll Most Likely Kill You in the Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the morning after, Felicity needs reassurance. In order to learn Ra's al Ghul's final plan, Oliver submits to the cleansing ritual with scary consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I apologize for the delay. Suffice it to say that life got in my way. Why am I writing like Dr. Seuss?
> 
> Just to clarify, the italicized sentences are Oliver's unspoken thoughts. Please remember that any reference to Al Sah-Him or Warith al Ghul are still just Oliver who suffers major identity issues during Season 3. 
> 
> The Chapter Title was spoken in The Princess Bride by Westley when he told of the phrase he heard every night while a prisoner of The Dread Pirate Roberts (before he became the Dread Pirate Roberts.) “Good night, Westley. Good work. Sleep well. I'll most likely kill you in the morning.”
> 
> If you're enjoying my story, I'd love to know it!

Alabaster skin pressed against scars. Hardened muscles sheltering delicate curves. A familiar, broad chest as her pillow. Waking in Oliver's arms fills Felicity with a blissful sense of peace. Having only a few relationships to compare from her past, she's never known such depth of contentment, of passion, of connection, as she's experienced with Oliver after an unforgettable night in Nanda Parbat.

The only shadow at the edge of her happiness is the singular question: Was their physical union as meaningful for Oliver, whose sundry sexual adventures are the stuff of legend? Felicity can't imagine asking him the trite question, "Was it good for you?" Even if that’s precisely what she’s wondering. But if Oliver's reactions to her bedroom skills were pretense, the guy gave an Oscar-caliber performance. And she's had enough history to know that there are some responses that dudes can't fake. Still, she can't help being somewhat intimidated by Oliver's reputation as a sexy playboy who got lots of nightly action in the years before the island. Is she just another sexual conquest to add to his trophy case of women who happily tumbled into his bed?

"Oliver, was I... did you feel..." Felicity flounders for the right phrasing, how to prop up her esteem without sounding pathetically needy.

"Felicity?" he asks with concern, searching her face for understanding.

A nervous smile playing at her lips, she tries again, asking, "It's just that I'm not sure..."

"Hey," he answers, a frown forming as he tilts her face upward to see her troubled eyes. "What are you asking me? Felicity?"

She wants to escape his steady gaze, out of embarrassment, and because she's profoundly uncomfortable broaching this topic. But she's hopelessly held captive by his unfaltering cobalt eyes. "I haven't done this before," she confesses, her breath warm and sweet against his throat.

Noting his confusion, Felicity backpedals, stammering, "Oh! Well, of course I've done _this_ before," as she gestures vaguely at the rumpled bed they're occupying. "Many times. But, not _too_ many, not in slut territory, and not even close to your score. Not that it's a contest. Or that you're a slut! Oh, no..."

"Felicity," he murmurs, caressing her shoulder, "What's worrying you?

"Oliver, I haven't been with many guys—"

Shame floods his face. "Felicity, I made a lot of mistakes when I was younger. I'm not that guy anymore. The spoiled playboy died on the island."

"No, Oliver," she reassures, her fingers grazing his jaw. "I don't care about that. Except... In light of your past... does _this_ mean the same thing to you as it does to me?"

He sighs before tenderly kissing her eyes, her face, her lips, the pulsepoint on her neck. His sultry voice warms the shell of her ear. "Madam, were you not paying attention during the past six hours?" Wrapping a long leg around hers, he pulls her further into his intimate embrace. "You're my everything. My Felicity."

"It's just that I've wanted this. Wanted _you_. For so long. And now that the fantasy is becoming real..." She closes her eyes and takes a steadying breath before starting again.  "Oliver, I've never done this before with someone who I...who was—"

"Your true love?" he suggests.

Her eyes fly to his, expecting to see a smirk or wink. It will kill her if he's cracking a joke at her expense. But his unguarded expression is completely earnest and open, holding nothing back.

"Felicity, it's the same for me."

Giving him a rueful side-eye, she declares, "Oliver, by any stretch of the imagination, this can't be your first time for _anything_ involving a naked woman."

"Because of my past, I've had years to figure out what — and who — I want. And it's you, Felicity. It's been _you_ since the red pen." They exchange soft, knowing smiles at the shared memory. "This _is_ my first time, Felicity. To sleep with the deliciously-naked, beautiful, remarkable woman... who is _my_ one true love."

**> \---->|<\-----<**

The sickening sound of sizzling flesh combines with blistering pain as the white-hot brand of a crude arrowhead is pressed into Oliver's upper back, forever marking him as _Al Sah-Him_ , The Arrow. Oliver fights for control of his senses, tamping down his body's innate reactions to the agony: nausea, faintness, shock.

The Royal Guard and League of Assassins, cloaked in masks and studded leather, bear silent witness to the primordial, barbaric ritual. Oliver's every breath is tainted by torch smoke, incense, the cloying fumes from The Pit and the lingering smell of burned skin.

Ra’s al Ghul drones on about "the cleansing of fire and renouncing his past" for some noble cause that only makes sense to the tyrant wielding the branding iron. _The cruel bastard really gets off on the sound of his own voice_ , Oliver thinks as The Demon continues to extol the need to "embrace the pain to unburden his soul." _Oh great, my new daddy is the Dr. Phil of the Stone Age_.

"Your first act as my true heir, as proof of your undivided fealty, is to destroy the last hold on your former life," Ra’s commands. The Demon's intentions seize Oliver's complete focus.

_This is why I've been compelled to stay behind. Even though Thea's fully healed. I've got no choice but to endure a torturous ritual in hopes of learning this fucking despot's final plans. It's why I've left Felicity unprotected in my chambers, at terrible risk of discovery and defying every instinct in me. It’s also the reason I'm desperately depending on Nyssa's forces to help me deal with the very dangerous, unpredictable shitstorm now brewing in Nanda Parbat._

Ra’s forges ahead, informing his heir, "Until you have destroyed your home and severed all ties to Oliver Queen, the man you were, only then can you begin your reign as my son with a clean slate." Pulling a large silver vial from his robes, Ra’s demands, "In order that I may be assured of your total subjugation, after the cleansing ritual, you will return to Starling City, carrying death itself."

_Plague. Pandemic. Deadly contagion. The last piece falls into place. The final depraved chapter, the denouement as charted by a twisted madman who is relentless in hijacking my life. And now the threat encompasses not only my loved ones, but my home, my city, thousands of innocents. I know how this ends because I've seen it before. I couldn't save Akio from the Alpha and Omega. My arrows are useless against this kind of menace._

 Oliver's racing thoughts are interrupted by the approach of the temple's high priestess, bearing a jeweled, ornate goblet, lifted high in both hands, reverently borne as if this is The Holy Grail. Chanting in an ancient tongue, she bows before Oliver as she offers him the sacred cup. Again and again, she forces him to swallow the vile liquid.

It's the moment Oliver's dreaded — drinking the Lazarus waters, tasting immortality at the potential cost of his sanity and his soul if Felicity's cure fails to nullify the toxic manganese. The metallic tang leaves an acrid taste on his lips, coating his mouth and throat with an unpleasant smear of heavy minerals. The dreadful aftertaste adds to the misery of being savagely burned with a searing iron. He sways on his feet as the arcane ceremony continues.

Meanwhile, Ra’s gets to the meat of his performance, dramatically declaring, "Oliver Queen is dead. Eventually to be reborn as Ra’s al Ghul. But for now, let him be known as _Al Sah-Him, Warith al Ghul_ , Heir to The Demon."

There it is. The climactic coups d'etat that Ra’s set out to accomplish weeks ago, interpreting Oliver's survival after their epic duel as fulfillment of age-old prophesy, heralding his heir apparent. At this moment, the self-same heir struggles against the effects of the Pit. Black dots dance in Oliver's vision, his stomach feels as if it's filling with lead, and tendrils of pain snake through his limbs as the circuits within his brain slow to a crawl. Mysteriously, the resonant voice of Ra’s al Ghul begins to soothe him, drawing him into The Demon's sinister web of control.

**> \---->|<\----<**

The guards discovered Felicity within the hour after Oliver departed their chambers. He’d demanded that “his sister” be left undisturbed during his absence, but the powers of Oliver Queen carried little weight with the League brotherhood before he completes the cleansing ritual. She’d fought them to no avail so now she’s in the forced company of a new set of guards, holding her prisoner in a stone passageway. In the distance, Felicity can hear the cultured tones of “The Ghoul” or "Crazy Al" as she likes to call him.

“He’s quite the little speech maker,” she comments to her silent keepers. “Must be like Shakespeare in the Park every day. Only without the trees. Or… any… grass." Then, to herself, she mutters, "Tough crowd."

Suddenly, Felicity’s guards seize and drag her through the arched entry of The Temple of Nanda Parbat. Dressed in Thea's clothing, her hair flies in all directions as she defiantly resists her captors' intentions. An impressive, fresh bruise swells on Felicity's arm, earned during the struggle to deliver her to The Demon's presence.

"Sadly, I've been forced this day, to spill the blood of two of my Royal Guardsmen," Ra’s somberly announces to the assembled League. "They failed to secure my heir's chambers, allowing Thea Queen’s escape and the intrusion of an enemy."

"Kneel before The Demon!" the top lieutenant barks at Felicity.

"Like hell," Felicity spits her retort, glaring daggers at the men forcing her to her knees. But, when her eyes find Oliver, the fight goes out of her, as she's chilled by the drastic change in him. He stands stock-still with sweat pouring down his naked chest, his attention slavishly following Ra’s, hands strangely lax at his sides, eyes unfocused, his face expressionless.

"Oliver," Felicity murmurs, as if his name in her mouth will confirm it's still him. The heroic man she followed here, to the ends of the earth. Who is always aware of his surroundings. _Always aware of her._ Did the doses of PAS fail to protect him? Has he already surrendered his identity? Is there a supernatural force at work here, controlling Oliver, in ways that surpass her understanding? If so, Felicity experiences a flash of guilt that she may have over-simplified the possibility of insulating Oliver from the power of The Pit, caught up in his confidence that he could withstand its influence.

Then she remembers that, regardless of Oliver's questionable state, they are not without allies in this moment. And that fact gives Felicity renewed focus and courage now that she's become the current target of the wrath of The Demon.

"Oliver Queen's treachery is forgiven because his disobedience occurred before his cleansing," Ra’s announces to his enslaved followers. "But there must be retribution. Two valued members of my court are dead because of the presence of the woman who cowers at my feet."

"Hey, there's no cowering going on down here," Felicity protests, her temper rekindled, not only in response to her plight, but in righteous fury for Oliver's sake. "And your idiot guards would still be alive if it weren't for you."

Ra’s arches a heavy brow, surprised by the lowly prisoner's display of grit in the face of certain death, and slyly observes, "I see why Oliver Queen took you to his bed for a brief dalliance. Sadly, he’s already forgotten you."

His barb strikes home, especially when Felicity glances again toward Oliver, whose vacant, dull eyes twist the dagger in her heart. But it's not in her nature to submit to the villain who's hell-bent on taking Oliver, _her_ Oliver. It may be the last act of her life, but she's going to fight for her boyfriend, even if he has been converted to a zombie.

With a renewed blaze of purpose, she turns on Ra’s, snapping, "Oliver Queen chose me over your daughter, who's got your balls in her purse. Well, if she carried a purse. Maybe they're in her quiver."

His reaction is sudden and violent, slapping Felicity, his gold claw ring slashing along the contour of her cheekbone, narrowly missing her eye. Drops of her blood fly in a Tarantino-worthy arc that mark those standing near her, including the man she loves, whose bare chest is now stained with the evidence of her abuse. Pain explodes in her face as she falls to the tiled floor with an anguished cry, trembling fingers cradling the gash.

"Enough!" Ra’s shouts, his angry voice echoing through the stone temple. He gestures to the pair of guards, who lift Felicity like a rag doll hanging between them. The Demon pivots to face her, drawing his sword and raising it for the swift, fatal end to this irksome female.

"Wait!"

Oliver's compelling voice startles them all, causing even a few of the well-trained brotherhood to imperceptibly jerk.

"It falls to me to slay the intruder," Al Sah-Him declares, his gaze never leaving the face of his liege. "It was my lust that brought her here, costing lives within our League. I will gladly slay her. To prove my complete allegiance to you, my Lord."

Casting a critical eye on his newly-made heir, Ra’s drills Oliver with an appraising stare, wary of his protégée’s intentions. After a long suspenseful pause, The Demon's lips curl in victory, apparently convinced that Al Sah-Him's offer is authentic. Ra’s gestures to the temple priestess, who approaches with the heavy leather tunic worn by all League members. With help from her acolytes, they dress the new heir in the foreboding, hooded garb of a killer.

Now fully outfitted for service, Al Sah-Him bows in submission to his Lord and Master, prompting Ra’s to offer the hilt of his heavy, gilded sword to the man who will one day rule in his stead. Rising, Al Sah-Him’s strong fingers heft The Demon’s Sword experimentally to learn its weight and balance, admiring its fine craftsmanship.

Then, slowly and purposely, he pivots towards Felicity, who bravely lifts her head to encounter the fierce, enigmatic figure filling her vision. Bruised and bloodied, she steels herself for her impending, unknown fate at the hands of this stranger who is about to reveal whether he serves as her executioner or savior. The flames lighting the stone temple throw harsh shadows across his features and his gaze glitters darkly beneath the League hood. With searching blue eyes, she desperately seeks any glimpse of _her_ Oliver, any sign that he remembers her, that she’s not lost him. There’s no trace of connection and, for the first time, he does the impossible — he terrifies her.

“Oliver. Oliver, please fight him,” Felicity pleads softly, her tears mingling with the blood trailing down her cheek. “I still believe in you, Oliver. In your strength to fight this. To fight for us.”

Her gaze is riveted on The Demon’s sword as he swings it upward, poised to strike a lethal blow. “Please, Oliver,” Felicity whimpers. “Please just… speak to me. One last time.”

As the heavy blade descends, flashing in firelight, she hears her name falling from his lips.

“My Felicity.”

**> \---->|<\----<**


	17. Prepare to Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rebellion against The Demon of Nanda Parbat boils over with Team Arrow and Nyssa's forces fighting for their freedom and their lives. Oliver and Nyssa make a startling admission. A dark cloud hangs on the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to those who have generously provided so much encouragement and support.  
> The chapter title was immortalized for Princess Bride fans by Mandy Patinkin's character, who boldly declared, "Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die."

The downward slash of a cruel steel blade. Being pushed out of harm's way. Swirling movement of bodies all around her.  A volley of scarlet arrows flying with deadly accuracy, piercing the chests, throats, eyes of the League brotherhood —  _and_ Oliver's bicep. An unbreachable wall of royal guards suddenly forming a human barrier before R'as al Ghul, allowing him to disappear from view. Staccato gunfire. The ringing clash of crossed swords and grunts of pain as trained fighters duel with ferocious skill.

Warfare has broken out in the Temple of Nanda Parbat while Felicity, vulnerable and in the open, crouches at the epicenter. Flecks of sweat and blood fill the air around her. She desperately looks for an opportunity to escape, understanding that she poses a considerable liability. Should Felicity be seized by R'as or one of his followers, she will make a valuable hostage, putting her friends in an untenable position. As if Felicity's allies are reading her thoughts, four rebel fighters form a tight circle around her. She recognizes the backs of Oliver and Nyssa among them.

It's impossible to distinguish the League members from Nyssa's and Oliver's crew, who are disguised in the common black leather tunics and hoods of Nanda Parbat. Although the scarlet arrows relentlessly fired by Nyssa's archer's are a dead giveaway to her presence and significant role in the rebellion. Diggle continues to pick off combatants from a distance with his Glock 9mm, joining in hand-to-hand combat as needed.

"Nyssa!" Oliver shouts above the chaotic din, ""How do we get out of here?"

After dispatching another assassin with her scimitar, Nyssa yells over her shoulder, "Can you see my father anywhere?"

"No! I'm afraid he's escaped," Oliver answers in disgust, slamming the hilt of his sword into the face of a League assassin.

Absorbing the bad news, Nyssa glances around to verify her position. "Behind us! There's a passageway."

Making slow, arduous progress, they fight their way to the back of the Temple with Digg and Nyssa's lieutenants loosely following as best they can while engaged in one-on-one combat. Finally, Oliver's crew makes it to the narrow exit and Diggle lobs a grenade to prevent further pursuit, bringing down massive chunks of stone in their wake. After verifying that their team members are accounted  for, they race for miles down narrow corridors with Nyssa leading them through obscure twists and turns until it's apparent they've eluded the enemy.

Finally, they reach a holding area where Nyssa has staged supplies for exiting the fortress and descending the backside of the mountain at nightfall. She's gathered an impressive array of medical kits, coats and boots, water, and weaponry. Exhausted from battle, they collapse in heaps to rest and refortify, waiting for sunset before attempting to escape The Demon's stronghold.

Felicity leans into the cavern wall, gasping for breath and newly aware of painful throbbing in her cheek. Suddenly, she's swept into strong arms, crushed against the solid wall of Oliver's heaving chest, his palm cradling the back of her head as he bends forward to bury his face in her hair. Lifting her, he steps into a shadowed recess in the cave wall. He just holds onto her as she clings to him, each of them desperate for the colliding, tangible proof of the other's survival, the reassurance of warm breath on skin, reconnection through familiar touches.

"Felicity," he murmurs, pulling back slightly to search her face with intense eyes that miss nothing. He grimaces at her blood-stained cheek, tilting his forehead to touch hers. "Are you okay?"

"Asks the man with an arrow in his arm," she answers, one eyebrow lifted in irony. As he shrugs off her concern, she snuggles the unharmed side of her face above his heart. His hand comes to rest between her shoulder blades, anchoring her in his embrace. "I'm glad you're not a zombie assassin," she confesses quietly, calmed by his pounding heartbeat beneath her ear.

"I'm sorry I scared you. It was a near thing, Felicity," he admits hoarsely. "But your voice... you brought me back. After I drank the Lazarus water, it was like I'd been hypnotized by R'as. His words were all I could hear. Everything else was senseless noise. But then _you_ broke though. I recognized your voice. Just your voice. Then, when he hurt you—" his voice breaks as he tenderly cups her injured face. "It was like you woke me from a nightmare and I remembered who I was. Where I belong. Who I love."

Felicity rises on her tiptoes for his kiss, frustrated by the stiff leather tunic that diminishes their sense of closeness. "I gotta get you out of this," she mutters against his chest. "I hate these leathers. Not that I don't like you in your leather. Because I most sincerely do."

Their next heated kiss is interrupted by the exaggerated clearing of a throat that they both recognize as Diggle's. Felicity pivots in Oliver's arms, now resting her back solidly against him as his hands cover hers across her midriff. Their friend is limping from a long gash on his upper leg.

"I'd tell you two to get a room, but we're at least eleventy thousand miles from a Holiday Inn," Digg remarks. He nods at the arrow protruding from Oliver's bicep, asking, "You want me to do something about that?"

"Soon," Oliver replies, adding, "First we need to tend Felicity. How's your leg?"

"Needs stitches, but I can walk on it. We've got medical supplies over there if you two can separate long enough to get doctored?" Digg teases them with a wry expression.

With a wink and smile, Felicity answers, "You knew this would happen eventually, Digg." Oliver simply ignores the conversation to rest his eyes, his jaw pressed to Felicity's temple.

"Yeah, it only took two years for you lovesick fools to find the person standing six feet from them," Digg grumbles as he turns and heads back to the makeshift infirmary to wait for his partners.

"Deep down, he's happy for us," Felicity decides, patting Oliver's hand as he caresses her forearm.

"Me, too," he murmurs into her hair, causing her dimples to deepen.

Felicity shifts toward him, lifting her face to gaze into reassuring, dark blue eyes. "You have an arrow sticking out of you. And it's creeping me out," she says.

"I'm sorry."

"Can we get you fixed?" she innocently requests.

He grins at the questionable meaning of her question. "I'm not sure what you have in mind, Felicity, but I _can_ have Digg remove the arrow."

She blushes and dips her head before grabbing his hand and pulling him from the secluded corner toward the clusters of fighters, who have suffered varying degrees of injury. Diggle and Nyssa have teamed up to efficiently clean, treat and bandage their comrades. Oliver pushes Felicity ahead of him when it comes their turn for medical care.

Nyssa shines a Maglite on Felicity's slashed cheek as Diggle inspects the damage and gingerly cleans away the dried blood. "It's not deep, Felicity, but you may end up with a fine scar," he predicts. Turning to Oliver, he asks, "I'm thinking butterflies?"

Oliver nods in agreement, as does Nyssa, prompting Diggle to set about neatly closing the cut with a uniform line of closely-placed butterfly bandages.  It's nowhere as painful as stitches would be, but Felicity is nevertheless grateful for Oliver's warm hands distracting her with his familiar touch.

Out of the blue, Nyssa states, "I have a purse."

The members of Team Arrow exchange baffled glances.

Recognizing their confusion, Nyssa looks directly at Felicity, explaining, "For my father's testicles. You said I might need to put them in my quiver."

"O-o-o-o-h," Felicity responds, remembering the barbed insult she'd flung at R'as referencing his balls being carried in his daughter's purse. "Good to know," she manages to say, pinching herself to stop the giggle fit rising in her throat. If she sees the repressed grins on Oliver's and Digg's faces, it's all over.

**> \---->|<\----<**

When it's Oliver's turn for treatment, Felicity has to look away. She still grips his hand in both of hers, but cannot watch the gruesome procedure without tossing her cookies. To distract herself, she strikes up a conversation.

Inspecting the primitive stone ceiling above them, she comments, "So.... a scarlet arrow. Stuck in my boyfriend. Guess that would be categorized as friendly fire."

In a matter-of-fact tone, Nyssa declares, "The arrow is mine."

Shocked by her calm admission, Felicity gapes at the dark amazon. Her gaze swivels to Oliver, who seems totally unsurprised that his ally intentionally skewered him.

"But why? Was it a misfire?" Felicity sputters. "Because I understand... I mean in the heat of battle—"

"Felicity," Oliver interjects calmly, "I told her to shoot me."

Now Oliver becomes the target of Felicity's astonishment.  She drops his hand to throw hers in the air, exclaiming, "Are you a maniac?  That's just sick, Oliver." Unfortunately, she's staring at him during the  moment when Diggle pulls the bloody shaft from her boyfriend's bicep, triggering her gag reflex.

Oliver sympathetically rubs her back while she drops her head between her knees and tries to think happy thoughts so she won't pass out.

"It was for your sake, Felicity Smoak," Nyssa volunteers calmly, adding, "I promised Oliver Queen that, if there was any doubt as to his state of mind after the cleansing, you were to be protected, at all costs."

Felicity's head snaps up, her eyes again locking with Oliver's. "What?!?"

"Felicity, I thought— No, I _hoped_ — that I would be immune to R'as' influence," Oliver patiently explains, grimacing as Digg cleans his wounds. "But it wasn't a certainty. And I was afraid he might exploit my feelings for you by forcing me to... to do terrible things. Nyssa was my insurance policy that you would be safe. From me."

"I considered killing him. When he took up The Demon's sword," Nyssa reveals in her maddening, casual way, bewildering Felicity with the forthright admission that she seriously considered taking Oliver's life. "But I decided that a painful injury might be enough to break The Demon's hold on him."

Aghast, Felicity can't decide which of them is the most insane, looking to Diggle, who may be the only rational member of their team.  He responds by simply shaking his head and muttering, "Don't look at me, Felicity. I just patch 'em up and kick 'em back into play."

**> \---->|<\----<**

By darkness, they make the treacherous descent down the mountain. Those with serious injuries are teamed up with an able-bodied partner, but it's slow going, complicated by the brisk crosswinds and a heavy wet snow that ices the rugged terrain. Oliver goes ahead of Felicity, poised to catch her if her footing slips. She's wearing a pair of hiking boots that are several sizes too big so her steps are not quite as sure on the slope. But she's a trooper even though Oliver knows she's miserable in the frigid, wet conditions.

It takes several hours to complete the dangerous expedition to reach the ARGUS transport vehicles. Oliver volunteers to drive one of the Jeeps so Diggle can rest his leg. Three minutes after she's gotten still and warm, burrowed into Oliver's side, Felicity's sound asleep. She'd love to continue her nap now that they're airborne, but Roy and Thea are like hyperactive teens, anxious to hear everyone's stories of Nanda Parbat. They celebrate their victories — Thea's healing and rescue, Oliver's survival, taking the fight to the League, escaping Nanda Parbat.

No one on the plane is ready to discuss their giant failure— that a vindictive R'as al Ghul, spoiling for revenge, has slipped away with a deadly biological weapon. And his certain target: Starling City.

**> \---->|<\----<**


	18. Refusal Means Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The allied rebels regroup and prepare for The Demon's threatened destruction of Starling City. From a familiar messenger, Oliver learns the painful truth of how Ra's came to possess a bioweapon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Princess Bride reference in the chapter title:  
> 'I am your Prince and you will marry me,' Humperdinck said.  
> Buttercup whispered, 'I am your servant and I refuse.'  
> 'I am your Prince and you cannot refuse.'  
> 'I am your loyal servant and I just did.'  
> 'Refusal means death.'  
> 'Kill me then.'

In the ensuite bathroom, Felicity examines her face in the mirror. The cut left on her cheekbone by R'as al Ghul has closed evenly and she's tempted to remove the butterflies John carefully applied yesterday. Above the gash, her eye has blackened dramatically and that side of her face remains swollen and tender, especially when her expressions get too pronounced, as is known to happen. She's freshly showered, wearing soft cotton sleep shorts and tank.

Entering from the bedroom, Oliver stands behind her in low-slung sweatpants. His hands encircle her waist, his concerned eyes meeting Felicity's in the mirror. She self-consciously touches her wounded cheek. He gently lifts her fingers to his lips, his kiss grazing her knuckles. His piercing blue eyes never leave hers.

"You're beautiful," he assures her, his words tickling her ear as he leans over her.

"I'm black and blue," she muses as she notices a burst capillary in her eye, "Ew...and red..."

With his hands clasping Felicity's shoulders, he turns her away from her damaged reflection to face him. "Felicity, you're beautiful," he repeats, punctuating his belief with soft kisses tenderly placed above her bruised eye.

"Oliver, it bothers me," she admits, her fingertips absently tracing his Bratva tattoo.

"Felicity, you'll heal—"

"No, not that. Scars just come with the job," she dismisses that specific topic with a slight shake of her head.

Tipping her chin up with his fingers, he studies her face, asking, "Felicity, what is it?"

"It worries me. How little you value your own life," she declares.  "That you would arrange your own assassination."

Oliver expels a huff of frustration before taking her hand and leading her to the bed they've been sharing. "Let's at least get comfortable for this conversation." He pulls back the bedding for her and she crawls under the covers, just now realizing how tired she is as she settles into the ridiculously-wonderful mattress.

Oliver joins her after switching off the lights and losing the sweatpants. Pulling her against him, he asks, "Better?"

"You're just hoping I'll get so comfy, I'll fall asleep instead of finishing this conversation," she accuses, stifling a yawn.

He grins down at her, replying, "Would that be so bad?"

"Yes," she asserts earnestly, "Because we're talking about your life, Oliver. _Your life."_

"Felicity," he sighs, "I arranged for Nyssa to kill Al Sah-Him, heir to The Demon. If R'as _had_ turned me, I would have become a soulless killer. It wouldn't have been me anymore. That's no way to live. And there was too much risk to the people I care about. I simply couldn't stand the thought of me hurting you, or Thea or Digg."

"But Oliver," Felicity protests, seeking his eyes in the moonlight. "That doesn't change the fact that you—"

"Felicity," he interjects calmly, stroking her back to loosen the tensed muscles, "I _do_ value my life. Because it has meaning now. Because I know you're here for me. Waiting for me. Wanting me."

Oliver's heated kisses traveling down her neck add power to his words, distracting and warming her in lovely ways. His gifted hands roam under her nightclothes, exploring and arousing her with intimate touches.

"So not fair," Felicity moans as she arches against him.

"You want me to stop?" he murmurs from her cleavage. His voice low. Husky. Male.

"Dammit, Oliver," Felicity snarls as he lets her push him onto his back and take matters into her own hands.

**> \---->|<\----<**

"So.... plague. What do we know about plagues?" Felicity asks the diverse group that has assembled in the great room of The Loft with the unified purpose of stopping R'as al Ghul's scorched-earth mission plans. Joining Original Team Arrow are Nyssa al Ghul, Ray Palmer, Barry, Thea, Roy and Laurel.

"Well, there's bubonic, yellow fever, smallpox, typhus, hemorrhagic. And of course, lots of strains of influenza," Barry helpfully explains. "But how can we know which bioweapon is on Crazy Al's menu?"

"Nyssa, any clue as to the type of virus we could be dealing with?" Oliver asks the woman in scarlet.

"The Demon calls it the Alpha-Omega," Nyssa reveals. "It was a gift from a League apprentice. I think from Hong Kong."

" _A gift_?" Felicity and her friend Barry silently mouth in shared astonishment.

Felicity feels Oliver tense beside her, the fine muscles of his jaw working. "Oliver?"

"I may know what this is," he murmurs. "I spent time in southern China when I was away. There was a deadly airborne virus that was weaponized by Biotech."

Felicity's fingers dance across her tablet as she researches Oliver's information. "Oh my God, this was actually used against the Chinese on the outskirts of the city. The casualty numbers are horrific."

"It was a nightmare," Oliver remembers, his voice tight with emotion.

"You were there?" Thea inquires with rising alarm. "When it was released?"

He nods stiffly, his eyes downcast. Felicity abandons her keyboard to rest a sympathetic hand on Oliver's back as she slips closer to him.

"Were you exposed?" Barry asks.

"Yes," he admits. Oliver's eyes close as the painful memories descend, unbidden and unforgiving. Finally, he continues, saying, "But I'd been immunized. I was protected."

"Wait!" Barry exclaims. "We might be able to—"

"Make a vaccine from Oliver's blood," Felicity chimes in.

Laurel offers, "Still, even with vaccine, the logistics of immunizing an entire city before an attack are—"

"Not impossible," Ray blurts, drawing all eyes in his direction. "We can use nano technology for dissemination. Possibly for containment. In theory, of course. We haven’t had an explosion in a week. Well, no big ones anyway."

Barry is already on the move, appearing at Oliver's elbow with empty blood vials and needle. After filling the glass tubes, the speedster gives a small wave of farewell before disappearing in a red blur with a gust of air in his wake.

"So-o-o-o, in addition to overnight delivery of The Black Death," Roy questions, "What other special surprises should we expect from our friends in Nanda Parbat?"

Attention shifts automatically to Nyssa, who states, "When The Demon targets a city, it's usually on several fronts."

"He's apt to bring League teams. As a distraction," Oliver suggests.

"Yes, assassins can be damned distracting," Diggle observes dryly.

"The city's in peril. It must be May," Thea glibly remarks.

"I'll give my dad a heads up that the city needs to be on standby," Laurel volunteers.

"We should assume R'as will be coming for us. Specifically and with deadly intent," Oliver darkly predicts. "The city— and all of you — are in his cross hairs because of me."

"Perhaps not, Oliver Queen," Nyssa says. "There is another heir who once enjoyed The Demon's favor. After betraying my father, Damien Darhk became a powerful, dangerous mystic. And he dwells within your city."

"Of course, he does," Thea mutters in mock defeat. "The hellmouth's got nothing on us."

"So the destruction of Starling City eliminates the threat of an ambitious heir and punishes the reluctant one." Diggle notes. "At the cost of thousands of lives."

"In Crazy Al's world, that counts as a win-win," Felicity says before changing gears. "So on the science front, Ray, can you work with S.T.A.R. Labs on the vaccine delivery?"

"Sure!" Ray responds with peppy enthusiasm. "Cisco's my brothuh from anothuh mothuh," he  says, awkwardly attempting to throw down gang signs.

Oliver and Diggle exchange bewildered looks.

Nyssa boldly steps forward from her customary position on the edges of the room, making it clear she has important words for these individuals who have more than proven their loyalty to her. "I regret the violence and suffering that have been brought to your people by The League. Sadly, this is the will of my father.  I _will_ see it undone. This is my pledge to you, as the blooded heir of The Demon's Head."

From the corner, Oliver seizes the familiar, heavy Demon's sword, offering the hilt, formally laid atop his wrist, to Nyssa. "By all rights, this belongs in your worthy hands."

With a shake of her raven hair, Nyssa lifts the sword, turning and placing it back in Oliver's hands, pressing his fingers around the hilt. "Not yet. You bear the mortal scars of his blade. I believe this sword is destined to defend you against the Demon. One final time."

Genuinely affected by the noble gesture, the two heroic warriors exchange a nod of mutual understanding and respect. Honed by brutal circumstances and self-disciplined in order to survive, Oliver Queen and Nyssa al Ghul are kindred souls, battle-hardened with scars as proof of their mettle. But it is their honor, their personal integrity, that binds them as comrades in arms.

**> \---->|<\----<**

After devouring a stack of pizzas that Felicity had delivered, the group dwindles as they go their separate ways. Palmer is the first to depart, headed to the airport for a flight to Central City and S.T.A.R. Labs. Diggle's family obligations pull him home early as well. As usual, Nyssa's departure is quick and silent. Laurel seems reluctant to go, perhaps dreading the conversation she needs to have with her father, but she finally leaves too. 

Oliver and Felicity finish cleaning up from their visitors while Roy and Thea sip wine on the balcony that overlooks the sparkling outline of the cityscape after dark.

"Do you feel like we covered what we needed to tonight?" Felicity asks Oliver, who is gathering empty beer bottles and pizza boxes for their recycling bins.

He thinks through the recent discussions before answering, saying, "Yes and no. I feel like we made progress on the science front and the plague threat, but I'm not sure—"

"Ollie!" Thea calls from the balcony. "You need to see this."

His sister's voice doesn't sound alarmed, but Oliver's still highly protective of her since her recent brush with death. He runs to the balcony, even though he's certain Roy is already at her side.

Not even acknowledging Oliver's sudden presence, their attention fixates instead on a strange site below them. A fire burns on a nearby rooftop producing a large plume of brilliant, emerald green smoke. The blaze illuminates the figure of a man wearing the studded, black leather tunic of a League assassin. He stands facing The Loft, as if awaiting their notice.

Having immediately followed Oliver onto the balcony, Felicity asks, "What's it mean?"

"It's a summons," Oliver says. "For The Arrow."

**> \---->|<\----<**

Yao Fei's hooded vest, once it's settled across Oliver's neck and shoulders, feels as familiar as the quiver he slings into his back. His green leathers are gone, seized by the police when The Foundry was raided and now kept in the labyrinth of SCPD evidence storage. So he opts for black jeans and a dark Henley with his original preferred hood and weapon. The Arrow isn't a suit as much as a mindset. And Oliver's definitely in vigilante mode.

Felicity awaits him at the bottom of the stairs with his earpiece.

"We have the tech to still do this?" he asks, a trace of surprise in his tone as he places the communication device in his ear.

Slightly amused by him, Felicity counters with a dimpled smile, saying, "You did not just question my digital prowess, Oliver Queen?"

"No. Never. Unless I want my phone to play Gangnam Style every time I get a text," Oliver admits, cringing at the memory.

Suppressing a giggle, she threatens, "Have I mentioned I have recently downloaded the biggest hits of _Wham!_?"

He groans and rolls his eyes, but still draws her into his arms, promising, "I'll be back soon. Roy will have my back."

"I'll be listening. And watching," she pledges, reaching on tiptoe for his kiss. "Be careful."

"Always," he reminds her, indulging in a brief make-out session before tearing himself away and disappearing into the night.

**> \---->|<\----<**

Oliver easily scales the three-story building after a quick check of the perimeter while Roy climbs the opposite side.  From his earpiece, Felicity has verified the area is "villain-free". Now satisfied that the League member came alone, Oliver emerges from the rooftop shadows.

"Oliver Queen, I come with a message from your Master," the man states in a flat tone, devoid of emotion or inflection.

"I am my own master," Oliver declares without hesitation. In the flickering green firelight, he studies the hooded face of this mysterious messenger, whose oddly-familiar voice has piqued an old memory of a man he once considered a friend.

"Maseo? Maseo Yamashiro?" Oliver calls out.

After a long silent pause, the assassin says quietly, "Maseo is dead. I am Sarab. The Phantom."

Seeng through this obvious lie, Oliver lowers his hood, fully facing Maseo and arriving at a horrifying conclusion. "It was you. How could you, Maseo? You're the one who delivered the Alpha Omega to R'as al Ghul."

"Maseo is dead. I am Sarab," Maseo repeats his maddening mantra. "I serve at The Demon's pleasure."

"The bioweapon that killed Akio? _That killed your son._ How could you put _that_ in the hands of a monster like R'as?" Oliver angrily demands to know.

The only sound on the deserted rooftop is the crackling of eerie green flames and the cool night winds.

For a brief mindless moment, Oliver pulls and nocks an arrow. Cold fury courses through him, triggering his lethal instincts. Straining to control his wrath, Oliver grits his teeth, growling, "So, deliver your fucking message!"

"My Lord, R'as al Ghul, would have his sword returned—"

"Tell him to come and take it," Oliver boldly challenges.

"The Demon commands that you meet him on the Starling River dam at sunset in two days’ time. You will face him, in a duel to the death. Or surrender your life in service as Al Sah-Him, his heir by divine prophesy," Maseo offers with cool detachment.

"There will be no surrender," Oliver snarls. "And you can tell your beloved master he'll get his damn sword back. When I run it straight through his black heart."

**> \---->|<\----<**


	19. The Queen's Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hunt for protection against the Alpha Omega bioweapon proceeds on several fronts with mixed results. Nyssa provides much-needed resources from an unlikely direction. Original Team Arrow enjoys quality time together. Felicity wins an argument.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's coincidental title is lovingly drawn from The Princess Bride book by William Goldman:  
> "The Queen's Pride was his ship, and he loved her." (Referring to the Dread Pirate Roberts)

BOOM!

Felicity cowers in the Palmer Tech lab as dust and random ceiling tiles fall from overhead. She sighs in frustration, perturbed that this is the third explosive failure of the morning. Not a positive sign considering the very real possibility that a bioweapon could be unleashed on the city at any time. Ray and Cisco, who arrived before sunrise courtesy of The Flash, have been feverishly tapping the potential of nanotechnology in the adjacent test room while Felicity researches pandemics, vaccines and delivery methods with online support from Dr. Caitlin Snow.

Before today, Felicity's knowledge of plagues and bioweaponry was nominal, but she's catching up fast — and scared out of her wits by the cruel and random possibilities.  Just witnessing Oliver's distress while remembering an actual bio-attack was enough to haunt her for months.

Ray and Cisco enter the lab, coughing and shaking debris from their scorched lab coats. Ray lost his eyebrows and lashes in the first mishap of the day since he rarely remembers to protect his face with goggles. Felicity gives herself a stern lecture to prevent the phrase "hairless chipmunk" slipping past her lips. Because the link between Felicity's brain and tongue is an unfiltered, open channel, her train of thought at times leads to mortifying conversations which Oliver would affectionately classify as babbles.

"So... at least your luck with Operation Inigo is consistent," Felicity drawls.

"Operation Inigo?" Ray repeats, clueless as to her reference.

Cisco and Felicity exchange an enthused, kindred glance, reciting in perfect unison, "Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die!"

Still baffled, Palmer mutters, "Oh.....Kay, I guess I missed that one."

In explanation, Felicity happily relates, "Inigo is relentless in his quest, against all odds, to defeat the six-fingered man who killed his father. It's the perfect analogy for us conquering the Alpha Omega."

"It really is," Cisco agrees, turning to Palmer and remarking, "You gotta up your game, man, if you're gonna roll with this crowd."

**> \---->|<\----<**

Working from Oliver's blood samples, Dr. Snow believes she's identified the antibodies to create a vaccine. But she needs as much blood as Oliver can spare for testing and production. It's not great timing since he's been challenged to fight for his life in 36 hours, which are ticking down at an alarming rate, considering all the critical problems they're juggling. But, Oliver's predictably unconcerned about conserving his strength when his sacrifice is for the sake of the greater good.

A healthy man can survive losing over 40 percent of his total blood volume — scarily defined as a "Class IV Hemorrhage". Diggle's already drained the maximum amount of more than two liters from Oliver's veins with the stubborn donor insisting he can give more.

"Oliver, you're white as a sheet. If you stand up, you're going to black out," Digg argues, removing the needle and wrapping the wound with a compression bandage. "There's no way I'm taking more."

Oliver bolts upright, protesting, "Digg, I'm fine." However his body betrays him. Oliver's so dizzy that only his death grip on the cot's metal frame prevents him from crashing headfirst to the floor of The Loft where Digg has set up a temporary infirmary next to the kitchen.

The buzz of Digg's cell phone interrupts the argument. "Felicity, tell me you have good news," he answers, keeping a wary eye on his weakened patient.

"I do!" Felicity relates. "There's a special delivery headed your way. How's my guy holding up?"

"At the moment, he's about to fall on his rock hard head," Diggle explains, catching Oliver as he tilts sideways before forcing him to lie back. It doesn't take much effort on Digg's part.

Returning to his phone call, Digg says, "Felicity, when can Barry make a blood run?"

"I'll find out," Felicity promises.

Noticing movement from the balcony, Diggle shifts his attention in that direction. Nyssa al Ghul has appeared with several other League members, some of whom do not seem to be willing guests.

Oliver rises again to encounter the wall of assassins who have invaded his home, however welcome their mission may be.

"John Diggle," Nyssa formally announces, "I have brought your blood donors. Each and all have immunity to the Alpha Omega."

Remembering Felicity waiting on the phone, Digg quickly ends the call and stands amazed at Nyssa's resourcefulness.

With hands bound at their backs, five hooded assassins are nudged forward by Nyssa and her lieutenants. When the captives' hoods are removed, Oliver is stunned to see Maseo among them. It makes perfect sense; Maseo and Oliver were both inoculated before the Alpha Omega virus was released in Hong Kong.

Snapping back into action, Digg begins to set up more cots and transfusion equipment. Oliver stays upright, but in a rare display of gumption, makes no attempt to stand. Diggle throws a large bottle of water his way, commanding, "Start drinking."

**> \---->|<\----<**

By evening, Diggle has collected twelve liters of antibody-rich blood, delivered by The Flash to S.T.A.R. Labs to boost Dr. Snow's production of vaccine. When Felicity arrives back at The Loft, she's loaded down with bags of takeout food and reports from a long day of nano testing at Palmer Tech.

Kicking off her heels, Felicity pads over to their dining table to deposit the food containers before checking on Oliver. Rather than resting, he's doing a maintenance check of his compound bow and an inventory of his wide array of arrows. In other words, about to go to war.

"Hey," she murmurs, perching at his side and kissing his lips lightly.

His answering smile is so genuine, lighting his face with a brief glimpse of true happiness. It's such a rare thing to see into Oliver's open heart. To recognize peace, contentment and hope there instead of pain. Instead of determined, controlled fury. It takes Felicity's breath away.

The moment is broken by Diggle, who's noisily begun to paw through the takeout sacks.

"Not burgers tonight?" Digg notes with surprise, instead finding large, grilled sirloin steaks with spinach salads and asparagus.

The tantalizing smells of dinner draw in Felicity and Oliver, who join their partner at the table to share the delicious fare, expensive red wine and friendly conversation. It's been awhile since original team Arrow had the luxury of time and circumstance to enjoy one another’s company, however brief and fragile this bubble of opportunity may be.

Felicity brings them up to speed on her work with Caitlin. Digg asks about "the kablooey boys" who she says seem to be having some success in nanotechnology. After enough wine, Oliver confesses that he has no idea what nano tech involves. Felicity giggles when Digg reveals he's equally in the dark.

"Guys, it's manipulation of matter on an atomic, molecular and supramolecular scale," she explains excitedly. But her enthusiasm is met by blank stares. Trying a new approach, Felicity adds, "It's miniaturization. Interacting with super tiny things."

"And how's that going to help us deal with a plague?" Oliver asks as he polishes off the last bites of steak.

"Nano tech can help detect, filter out and neutralize harmful chemical or biological agents in the air and soil," Felicity says, her eyes bright with the possibilities.

"Or... it blows stuff up," Diggle remarks with a grin.

"I can't believe you didn't bring something from Big Belly," Oliver admits to Felicity as he puts down his silverware. "But this was perfect. Thank you."

Diggle raises his glass in a silent salute of agreement.

"Actually, after a little Googling, I planned tonight's menu based on foods recommended for blood donors," she says brightly. "Except for the chocolate creme pie. I planned that because I love chocolate creme pie."

"Well, as the sole blood donor at the table, your thoughtfulness is appreciated," Oliver expresses, taking her hand in his.

"That's the thing, Oliver," Felicity begins cautiously, knowing he's going to stridently reject her next idea. "I want to give you something you need without there being a big argument. And be advised, I'm fully prepared to use my loud voice, if necessary."

Oliver's initially confused so he looks to Digg for clarity. But as soon as his friend avoids eye contact, Oliver puts it together.

Standing in defiance, Oliver declares, "No. Absolutely not. I'm not taking your blood, Felicity."

Exchanging a look of mutual frustration, Felicity and Diggle simultaneously sigh and shake their heads.

"Diggle," Oliver shouts, "Tell her why she can't do this!"

"Diggle," Felicity yells, "Tell him why I can!"

"Oliver," Digg calmly begins, "Your blood type is B positive. Hers is O positive. You're perfectly compatible. Despite the tone of your current conversation."

Oliver rolls his eyes in aggravation and stalks into the great room with Felicity on his heels. Diggle wisely elects to avoid the crossfire and stay behind with the chocolate pie.

With steel in her spine and her voice, Felicity pronounces, "Yeah, Oliver, you are letting me do this for you. Because after calmly listening to my reasons, I know you are going to make the right and honorable choice."

Oliver throws a challenging glare her way, but has the self-preservation instincts to remain silent.

"You are going to accept my blood because you're in a weakened state and tomorrow you're fighting the demon who nearly took your life four months ago. And, in case you’ve forgotten, put all of us through hell,” Felicity asserts in clipped certainty. “This may be the only part of me that I can send with you into battle. The only edge I can give you. But I have to believe that if it's _my blood_ you're protecting, you will find the strength and courage to finally defeat R'as al Ghul."

With unshed tears shining in her eyes, Felicity moves intimately close to press her hand against Oliver's chest, vowing, "I need to know that I will be here— in your heart — tomorrow when you face R’as, filling your veins with my fierce need for you to live. To come home to me."

As Oliver regards Felicity’s beautiful face, the furious heat that initially filled him is gone, replaced with a sense of wonder and gratitude for this heroic woman whose devotion and bravery humbles him. How can he turn down her practical and symbolic offer now that she has framed it in such noble and passionate words that touch his very core?

Pulling her into his arms, he whispers, desperate that she understand, "You _were_ with me, Felicity. The first time I fought R'as. You were my last thought. You're what kept me alive."

So Oliver submits, dragging her nervous blue eyes to his while Diggle sets the needle, both men aware of how much she hates this part. Then Oliver lies next to Felicity, his cot set lower than hers so that gravity will carry her sacrifice down to strengthen him. Oliver clasps her small hand to his chest as her lifeblood flows into his veins, on the intricate winding journey through him, to a heart that will forever be filled with her.

**> \---->|<\----<**

Waking with a jolt, Oliver is halfway out of the bed before he realizes he's in a safe place, in his own bed, with Felicity.

"Oliver?" Felicity asks sleepily as she surfaces from deep slumber. She knows not to touch him until he's fully broken loose from the nightmare, completely oriented in reality.

Gulping deep gasps of air, Oliver centers on a familiar touchstone in the bedroom, lit in muted, gray shades of dawn. Felicity's red, high-heeled shoes. They've fallen sideways on the soft-tufted rug where she stepped out of them with mewling sighs of contentment as her small, pedicured toes flexed in blissful freedom.

Then he becomes aware of her. She's paused, just on the protected outer edge of his reach, waiting for Oliver's assurance that he's awake and lucid — just as he taught her so she'd be safe from his night terrors while sharing his bed.

Oliver twists to face Felicity, linking his eyes to hers, with a weary, abashed smile. "Sorry if I scared you," he rasps.

Felicity instantly closes the distance between them, untangling the bedding to reach him, her arms wrapping around his torso.

"Same dream?" she asks, resting her tousled head against his warm chest. Oliver nods silently, his fingers seeking comfort in the pulsepoint of her slender neck.

"And I'm guessing, this time was the Hitchcock version," she predicts, moving with Oliver as he lies back, keeping her firmly enfolded in his embrace.

"I was falling over the cliff. After R'as stabbed me with his sword," he quietly reveals.

Felicity presses a gentle tender kiss to the straight, crimson scar at his breastbone, the permanent trace of The Demon's blade.

"Felicity."

"Hmmmm?" she responds, returning to snuggle her face to his neck, fetching the comforter to cover them in the morning chill. Her restless foot, as it sometime does, roams along the well-muscled calf of Oliver's leg.

Stroking his broad palm along her cool arm, he murmurs, "Sometimes, when I'm in the dream, I defeat R'as and come home to you. We leave the Arrow life behind. We go away together — just you and me. And we're happy."

Raising her eyes to his, Felicity searches his face for meaning before asking, "You dreamed you found happiness, Oliver?"

"With you, Felicity. Faraway from here."

Felicity's soft lips find his as she wiggles closer, her hands wandering down his delicious body.

After a scorching kiss, she comes up for air, inquisitive as ever. "Okay, I need to know. Is it true that the night before battle, fighters shouldn’t have sex?"

"Not in this man's army," Oliver growls as he pivots to rise above her.

"Thank God."

**> \---->|<\----<**

At six o'clock in the morning, Operation Inigo is proven possible when Ray and Cisco succeed in recognizing and destroying the Alpha Omega virus with nanotech. Granted, the experiment happened in the lab's controlled environment, but it's their first hopeful result and none too soon. Now, it’s on to the daunting challenge of mass producing the nanotech to protect an entire city.

Before night falls, plague-infested bodies will be tumbling from the skies above Starling City.

**> \---->|<\----<**


	20. You Killed My Father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Demon's War comes to Starling City as the vigilantes "suit up" to protect each other and their home. Felicity deals with the anguish of being the one left behind while Oliver faces his final showdown with Ra's al Ghul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and foremost, thanks for your faithful following and encouraging remarks. I write this especially for those of you who have generously supported my version of Arrow Season 3.  
> This chapter is only the first half of the final battle with The Demon's forces. The action will continue in my next posting.  
> During the duel on the bridge, the italicized dialogue is what Felicity is telling Oliver through his earpiece.  
> The chapter title, as every Princess Bride fan knows, is a tribute to Inigo Montoya's famous, well-rehearsed speech, "Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die."

"Have you seen my com?" Oliver asks as he hunts through the jumble of Felicity's tech devices on the bedroom dresser. He’s half-dressed for a momentous, grueling day and can't predict when he'll be returning to their home base.

Stepping from the bathroom in her robe, Felicity stills his hand with hers before unzipping a compact black case, filled with communication equipment. She selects an earpiece and presses it into his open hand with a dimpled smile.

"Are you sure about this?" she inquires, tilting her head. "That you want my voice in your head? During a duel?"

"I always take you with me on a mission. Yes, I need to hear you, Felicity,” he assures her, adding, “Just ... don't babble. Swordplay requires concentration."

"Are you suggesting I'm a distraction?" Felicity innocently asks as she loosens her robe and brushes her naked, pebbled breasts against his.

"Oh God, that...that's definitely distracting," Oliver groans into her hair. "But if you keep doing _that_ ," he admits, forcing himself to retreat and regretfully pull her robe together, "We'll never leave this room."

Felicity sighs and lifts her face to his for a soft, sweet kiss before handing him his t-shirt, announcing, "It's a good day to save the city!" And she strides away with purpose in her step, morning radiance shining in her hair and a confident smile lighting her face.

With Felicity on our side, Oliver wonders, how can we possibly lose?

**> \---->|<\----<**

"Crop dusters?" Nyssa repeats, as if it's a foreign phase. "What are these _dusters_?"

Ray Palmer answers, "Well, in the Midwest, they're—"

"But Ray, you're from Connecticut," Felicity interjects.

"I am. Ivytown actually," Palmer volunteers with a grin. "But my grandparents lived in the Texas Panhandle, where I spent my summers."

In frustration, Oliver turns to Nyssa, explaining, "Crop dusters are low-flying airplanes used to spray pesticides and other chemicals on fields."

"So your strategy is to release these little nano guys in an aerial application?" Digg guesses, earning a nod from Cisco and Palmer.

"Flying at low altitudes. Like giving the city a buzz cut," Cisco says, skimming his hand over his full head of hair.

Thinking ahead, as always, Felicity announces, "We're setting up mobile treatment units for victims in the direct pathway of a bioweapon."

"But we don't know where they'll attack? Or how many weapons to expect," Laurel frets.

"My spies in Nanda Parbat have learned the Alpha Omega is to be delivered by four vessels," Nyssa reveals.

"To me, it makes sense to plan for our team to cover the four quadrants of the city," Digg recommends with general agreement from the group.

"Vessels?" Roy wonders aloud. "What the hell does _that_ mean?"

"It could be anything," Oliver answers.

Digg suggests, "Bombs. Missiles."

"It's unlikely my father would use either," Nyssa states succinctly.

"Native tribes in Ottawa were given blankets infected with smallpox," Ray remembers, sounding every bit like a high school teacher. "So the possible delivery methods are endless. Historically, plague has been used as a weapon spread by fleas, contaminated water, soil, blood—"

"Yeah, we get the idea," Roy interrupts Palmer's lecture, demonstrating his customary lack of patience — and manners.

"We'll deal," Oliver vows firmly, craving action over conversation.

Meeting his intense gaze, Felicity calmly promises, just for him, "Like we always do."

**> \---->|<\----<**

Oliver misses his leathers as he crashes through the glass windows in the penthouse suite of The Starling Grand Hotel. Rolling gracefully into a crouch, he stealthily proceeds to search the empty rooms, noting with disappointment that they are no longer occupied. Tapping his com, he reports, "No joy on Darkh. He's a ghost."

"Flight manifests show one Damien Darkh departed on today's red eye for LAX," Felicity's voice confirms his suspicions with her "borrowed" intelligence. "I guess we'll slay that dragon on another day. Which is just as well. Something about his name is straight-up ominous. It gives me chills."

"We got planes in the air yet?" Oliver asks, as he repels down the back side of the hotel into the deserted alley, where his Ducati waits.

"Wheels were up ten minutes ago," she states crisply. "City should be completely canvassed within two hours."

"Okay,  Coming in soon," he says as he kicks his bike to life.

"Mmmm.... Don't tease me, lover," Felicity purrs suggestively.

"Felicity. Really? Now? While all hell is about to break loose?" Oliver asks in pretend shock, despite the thrill her velvety voice sparks.

"You love it," she astutely perceives, imagining the knowing grin on his face as he rips through traffic on his way back to her.

**> \---->|<\----<**

As the sun loses its hold on the day, the teams splinter to fulfill their specific roles during the expected attack. At their temporary headquarters in Palmer Tech, Cisco, Ray and Felicity have oversight of all the fields of battle, monitoring the four city quadrants, the nano tech, mobile medical units, SCPD radio traffic, radar and Oliver's ordained rendezvous with R'as al Ghul.

After an intense week of preparation and worry, the war with The Demon's Head is about to become all too real. In spite of their combined strengths and intellect, the next few hours may yet claim innocent lives.  It's impossible to know who will remain standing at the end of this harrowing night.

With their comprehensive strategies and players now in place, Felicity finds herself in nerve-wracking limbo. She detests the powerless feeling of waiting on a terrifying precipice for the enemy's first strike because it allows her nimble mind the time for second-guessing. Will the nano tech work against the Omega? Do Caitlin's vaccines contain antibodies potent enough to successfully treat those at ground zero? And, what degree of lethal force will be brought to bear by the League of Assassins?

Then there are the personal and totally selfish fears for her people on the front lines. From a tactical standpoint, Felicity knows she is positioned where she should be, where her skills can be best utilized, but the worst aspect of her "night job" lies in being the one who stays behind. Who puts on a brave face while sending her partners into harm's way. The one who monitors the action. Who listens to gunfire, grunts of fighters, the clash of blades, fiery explosions,  screams of pain, the thud of bodies without knowing who is among the fallen. Who can't breathe as she strains to hear familiar voices, confirming they yet live. Who fearfully gathers medical supplies in dreaded anticipation of the return of her battered, bruised, limping, bleeding friends with Oliver always managing to incur the worst of it.

Sending Oliver to duel R'as al Ghul for a second time imprisons Felicity in a surreal vise of terror that she must keep hidden, especially from the one who will, yet again, be fighting for his life— for their life together. How different they are now, compared to the last time Oliver left her to meet The Demon's challenge. On that day in The Foundry, Oliver had told her that he loved her and Felicity had shielded herself from the torture of his divided heart. But that was before she knew the exquisite pain of losing him.

Believing that Oliver had died on that accursed mountain was their crucible, their turning point and the prism through which Felicity now views her connection to him and the others who share this dangerous calling. The weeks of hollowing grief she endured had reset Felicity's course, corrected her perspective and understanding, made the _possibility_ of love worth every risk of heartbreak. When he miraculously came home to her, damaged as he was, she leapt from a cliff where she'd chosen to stand alone— but safe— trusting Oliver to be there to keep her from crashing on the rocks below. And in every way, he had caught her in mid-air, pulled her flying heart to his chest, met her where she was, exchanged his love for hers, softened her fall in his arms, in his bed.

At least this time, she knows exactly what she stands to lose.

**> \---->|<\----<**

A dozen ominous black parachutes blossom in the waning light over Starling City, bearing vessels of death, as promised by the dark lord of Nanda Parbat. Four plague-ridden corpses, literally dead drop into the city's quadrants. The Demon's assassins follow them down to prevent interference on the ground. R'as al Ghul — The Demon himself — guides his chute toward the bridge spanning Starling River for his appointed hour with Al Sah-Him.

**> \---->|<\----<**

_I have eyes on you, Oliver, courtesy of the Starling River Authority_.

Via his earpiece, Felicity's invisible presence warms Oliver and takes the edge off of the tension that he always carries into a fight. Facing R'as a second time, fully aware of his foe's formidable power and skill, is a _deja vu_ experience, further darkened by stark memories of falling victim to his blade. And yet, this time is different because of one amazing change — Felicity. Not only does her steady voice calm him, she empowers his resolve to finally end this threat that has burdened them for far too long.

_Nyssa and her peeps are in position flanking your twenty. Just to prevent Crazy Al from tapping in his little League friends. Well, not Little League like kids with baseballs—_

“Felicity! Any sign of Ra's himself?” he asks, knowing she has a wider vantage point than his at ground-level.

_If you look to the western horizon, I believe that particular dark cloud is now headed your way._

Like a flying wraith, R'as descends on the dying air currents to land on his feet at the bridge entrance. Detaching his chute, he steps out of the cords while maintaining his royal, arrogant demeanor.

"I made a promise that you would see your beloved city die," R'as al Ghul reminds Oliver as they evenly stride toward one another on the expansive bridge cresting the Starling River Dam. Both shrouded in the heavy black tunics of the League brotherhood, the two warriors cut deadly shadows against the night sky.

Without a moment's pause, Oliver declares, "The only person dying in my city tonight is you."

 _Nice_.

His lips curling in a venomous smile, The Demon observes, "That's a bold threat from a man whose chest was sheath for my blade."

"A blade I now wield," Oliver retorts, his voice ringing in the concrete canyon, "And, make no mistake, I'm about to return it."

R'as attempts a placating tone, "No doubt, al Sah-Him, you are a skilled warrior."

"My name. Is. Oliver. Queen!" Oliver declares with steely conviction.

_Yes! And my fist is bumping air._

With a dismissive wave of his jeweled hand, R'as replies, "Whatever name you claim, it would be a waste to slay a true warrior when I can promise you wealth, power and immortality as my heir. The man who survives a fight with R'as must become R'as. Or be destroyed."

Decisively pulling the Demon's sword from the scabbard at his hip, Oliver casually smiles at his opponent, remarking, "Get used to disappointment."

_I've never loved you more._

Hatred twists The Demon's once-noble features into a bitter mask of haughty menace as he too arms himself for battle.

A skilled swordsman employs speed, control, balance and mental clarity as he strikes and parries blows. Broadening his stance, Oliver focuses on foot placement to brace his attacks and defense. He knows a sword fight is often determined by the first blow and can be decided in less than thirty seconds. But for two experienced fighters, this duel is apt to be a marathon of strength, agility and focus. Because R'as is a veteran master of the long sword, Oliver could easily be intimidated as he was in their first duel. But this time, he swiftly falls into the rhythm and flow of combat.

"There's something different about you, boy," R'as observes as he spins away from Oliver's descending blade. "I sense a new source of confidence."

"I have someone to live for," Oliver says while keeping his sword on point. "But a man who condemns his own daughter wouldn't understand."

The mention of Nyssa causes The Demon's blade to momentarily dip and Oliver instantly reacts, swinging to draw first blood with a deep slash of his foe’s shoulder.

"As ruler of Nanda Parbat, I am revered and beloved," the despot claims, attempting a strike as Oliver easily deflects his blade.

"Your people serve you in fear and hopelessness. Who cower from your cruel tyranny," Oliver accuses, sensing a subtle shift in control. "My followers are the source of my power. My people fight with me out of belief in our cause. They serve because it is their free choice. Your brothers are men whose spirits you have broken.”

“Thousands will mourn my death!” R’as declares, his eyes flashing with fury.

“No! They will kneel before the next R'as al Ghul,” Oliver goads him, adding the name, “Nyssa al Ghul.”

The Demon lunges in a reckless fit of rage, but Oliver anticipates the charge, sliding away from the lethal stroke while raising his own blade. Registering shock, R’as realizes he’s been impaled by Oliver’s sword even as it’s being jerked from his chest. With brutal, bone-breaking force, Oliver slams the heavy hilt of The Demon’s sword into its owner’s face, causing R’as al Ghul to collapse, never to rise again.

Suddenly aware of approaching shadows, Oliver resumes a fighter’s wary stance, prepared for a secondary attack from the League.

Nyssa steps out of darkness as her lieutenants take a knee in submission. The blooded heir to The Demon pulls her scimitar, laying it at Oliver’s feet, as she bows to him briefly. He stoops to remove the hefty gold ring from The Demon’s forefinger and offers it to Nyssa while bestowing her father’s sword to her hands as rightful successor.

“You killed my father. My beloved was right about you, Oliver Queen,” Nyssa pronounces in her formal way as she offers her hand in friendship. “I will forever see you as my brother.”

Accepting her hand in his, Oliver responds, “It was an honor to fight at your side, Nyssa al Ghul. My bow remains in your service, if ever needed.”

Gifting him with a rare smile, Nyssa says, “I thank you, but your place and your heart are here, in the city you love, where your beloved waits.”

_And that would be me. Because now it’s safe for me to babble._

Nyssa and her band recede from sight as a grinning Oliver sighs in relief, “Felicity. It’s over. He’s down.”

_Oliver, is he still alive?_

Kneeling by his fallen enemy, Oliver sees that, although mortally wounded, Ra’s remains conscious.  “Yes, but not for long.”

_Put your com in his ear._

Perplexed by her request, Oliver asks, “Are you sure, Felicity?”

_Please, Oliver. This will only take a moment._

Removing the communication device, Oliver sets it in The Demon’s ear.

_You've spent months telling the world that Oliver was your heir. You've forgotten the other thing he is._

R'as coughs blood before gasping, "And pray tell, what would that be?"

_"Mine."_

**> \---->|<\----<** 

 


	21. The Brute Squad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The League of Assassins brings war and plague to the streets Starling City, fulfilling their fallen Master's final wishes. Felicity monitors and directs the battles being waged by her friends. Ray shows off his latest invention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My plan is to finish this story in the next concluding chapter, although this saga continues to grow beyond my control. We will hope that's a good thing. I've loved the gifts of kudos and comments from those of you who are kind enough to leave them. THANK YOU!!!
> 
> As expected, Chapter 21 features a lot of action in a variety of locations, with Felicity at the helm, trying to keep the good guys alive. So, be prepared for frequent switchbacks and changing faces.
> 
> The chapter title comes from a conversation in The Princess Bride between our favorite giant and a miracle worker:  
> Miracle Max: Go away or I'll call the Brute Squad.  
> Fezzik: I'm on the Brute Squad.  
> Miracle Max: [sees Fezzik] You *are* the Brute Squad!

So many players scattered throughout the city, so much information to process, yet the vigilantes share a dogged determination to protect their beleaguered community from the ongoing attack devised by the hellbent tyrant, whose body now lies lifeless atop the Starling River dam. After assuring herself of Oliver's final triumph over his tormentor, Felicity's concentration is fractured by the widespread introduction of plague in four opposing directions, plus the arrival of the League brotherhood. Even with help from Ray and Cisco, she scrambles to keep up with virus-riddled corpses, assassins, first responders, Nyssa's crew and her own Team Arrow.

The buzzing of another cell phone demands attention she can't spare, even if it is the dedicated connection to Captain Lance.

"Take a number, Captain," Felicity mutters aloud, letting the phone rollover to message mode.

"Arsenal is down," Thea tersely reports through the communication device in Felicity’s ear.

Felicity immediately responds, "How bad?"

"He's knocked out," Thea answers, trying to sound calm. "Took a kick to the head."

"Are you still under attack?" Felicity asks, scanning their quadrant for emergency help.

"Negative. Assassin neutralized," Thea calmly replies, piquing Felicity's curiosity as to who took down the bad guy, but she hasn't the time to deconstruct this particular violent encounter, considering how many others are in progress.

"I'll send the Canary to your location," Felicity promises, texting Laurel that Roy needs to be transported for medical care.

Felicity rapidly checks the bank of monitors, each one depicting scenes of intense combat and general chaos in the vicinity of contaminated sites. With Roy out of action, Digg, Oliver and Nyssa's small unit are spread thin. A secondary wave of League members has joined the battle. Felicity realizes they must have been embedded before this evening's airborne attack.

“Cisco,” Felicity calls out.

“Yo,” her friend responds.

“I need you to stay on Digg at 54th and Ross. Tell me if we need to send backup,” Felicity directs before switching gears. “Ray, how are we doing on civilian casualties? Can you tell if the nanotech is working?”

Unused to multi-tasking, Ray’s focus remains honed on his monitors, blocking out other distractions, including the voice of the woman in command.

“RAY!!” Felicity barks in frustration, jolting Palmer out of his fugue state.

“Oh, head bitch in charge usin’ all the shouty letters now,” Cisco hums to himself, keeping his head down and attention trained on his assigned screen.

Badly-startled, Ray knocks over a jar of pens at his work station, exclaiming, “Sorry, I – uh… What?”

Softening her voice and striving for patience, Felicity repeats, “Ray, I need a nanotech update. Please.”

“Oh, of course,” Ray answers, seeming genuinely unnerved by the indomitable Ms. Smoak. “These are early estimates at best, but it appears we’ve got eighty percent containment, which is not bad, considering –“

She interrupts his wordy explanation, flashing him a forgiving smile with a curt “Thanks” before pivoting back to the screen where Oliver engages five assassins in mortal combat. There is a stark and terrible beauty to the ferocious tableau playing out in pixels and bits before her.  This is Oliver in his heroic element – pitting his strength, concentration and athleticism in an intense, hypnotic collision with those who rise to his lethal challenge at their own peril. Felicity stands spellbound, witnessing the deadly dance he wages, his valiant grace and vicious expertise on glorious, chilling display as her heart rises in her throat. Dear God, loving this man hurts in an exquisite way.

Disrupting her thoughts, Lance calls again and Felicity yields to his persistent attempts, snatching the cell phone and replying, "Yes, Captain?"

"I wanted to give you a heads up," Lance growls, adding, "SCPD is scrambling sniper teams to take out the assassins."

"Okay, Captain. Thanks for the update," Felicity murmurs, her mind already moving on to the more pressing demands of protecting her people.

"Your boy," Lance adds, "He'll never be a hero in my eyes, but I don't want him to be shot when —"

"Oh!" Felicity blurts, suddenly realizing that Oliver still wears the distinct leather tunic of the League of Assassins. And with the heavy hood, he’s identical in appearance to the rest of the brotherhood, as are Nyssa's fighters. "Thanks, Captain!"

Felicity abruptly cuts off the conversation with Lance and selects a familiar face from her personal phone’s list of contacts.  As soon as the call is answered, she urgently pleads, "I'm calling you in as my insurance policy. We’ve got police snipers targeting our guys. I'll text you their locations."

“Felicity?” Cisco calls out while pointing to the image on his screen. “Did you send reinforcements to Diggle?”

With a shake of her head, Felicity crosses to Cisco’s station, murmuring, “No,” while studying the real-time skirmish streaming to the monitor.  An archer methodically aims and takes out League fighters with perfectly-placed arrows, giving Digg the support he needs to finish this particular fracas.

“Who _is_ that?” Felicity wonders aloud as she tries to tighten the camera angle for a clearer view of the mystery archer.

“Oliver?” Cisco suggests, attempting to be helpful.

“Nope. Too small. Besides Oliver’s in Pennytown, surrounded by assassins. Those poor bastards,” Felicity remarks, squinting at the grainy figure shrouded in darkness from a nearby embankment. “It looks like…”

**> \---->|<\----<**

Thea Queen nocks another arrow, primed for the arrival of any fresh new assassins to skewer, but the only player left standing at the intersection is John Diggle. The plague-bearing corpse lying in the street effectively cleared out the civilians as soon as passersby concluded that zombies were raining from the skies over Starling City. Except these zombies look dead and stay that way.

“You okay?” Thea calls down to Digg, who peers at Oliver’s petite sister, now outfitted as Arsenal in head-to-toe red leather.

“I’m fine,” Digg assures her, considering her latest attire before commenting, “That suit never looked that good on Roy.”

“Thanks!” she replies, hopping from her perch and strolling toward him. “Arsenal’s taking a little nap. Thought I’d suit up though, just in case.”

“Glad you did. Your big brother know about this?” Digg asks, checking nervously over his shoulder for any sign of Oliver.

With an impish grin and wink, Thea retorts, “Now, what do you think?”

“I _think_ we need to call in a biohazard team to lock down the South End so we can get you off the streets before I get blamed for this.”

**> \---->|<\----<**

Relying on her monitors, Felicity recognizes the plight of Nyssa’s overwhelmed fighters and makes the decision to send immediate backup despite their limited manpower. Once again, so many lives are in her hands, depending on her technology, keen analytical mind and lightning judgment, amidst the heat of battle. Later, when the rush of adrenaline has leveled out and the bloodshed ended, Felicity will tremble as she’s haunted by the terrifying possible outcomes that _could have_ happened if her snap verdicts were even slightly miscalculated. But right now, with her people in grave jeopardy, she hasn’t the luxury of second guesses. Felicity can only hope she’s worthy of their blind trust.

**> \---->|<\----<**

In the warehouse district, Nyssa’s scimitar flashes beneath the glow of streetlights as she and her sisters wage warfare against a brutal band of assassins who take particular pride in fulfilling their duty – slaying the women who betrayed their lord and master, R’as al Ghul. Nyssa has not yet taken up her father’s sword although she now wears his heavy claw ring. Outnumbered by the brotherhood, three of Nyssa’s lieutenants have already fallen. The action is a violent clash between single-minded combatants whose entire existence has centered on developing their skills as highly-trained warriors. Their daily regimen prepares them for a life of tragic, singular purpose: to fight, maim and kill in The Demon’s service.  Although their Master has been killed this night, the League brethren are duty-bound to fulfill his final wishes and prevent his defiant daughter from claiming her birthright. They will gladly lay down their lives in exchange for the glory of martyrdom, making them doubly treacherous. 

The clear and beautiful echo of a songbird interrupts the fighting. The innocent, melodic sound is completely foreign in this place, at night, in the midst of warfare. The hardened assassins break training as they pause in wonder. But Nyssa’s team recognizes this as a prelude, a warning from The Black Canary. It is a sweet, clarion call to escape before she unleashes the canary’s cry, a high-powered, ultrasonic scream that shatters eardrums and incapacitates enemies. Taking advantage of the momentary lull in fighting, Nyssa and her lieutenants retreat into the shadows before hitting a dead run away from the high-decibel strike they’re certain is coming.  Laurel Lance stands atop a three-story building, silhouetted against the rising moon, bigger than life and dangerous in her own right. In defense of her friends, she pole-axes the ruthless assassins, splitting the night with the Canary’s Cry as a final requiem for the sister she yearns to see rise again.

**> \---->|<\----<**

Oliver hears the crack of high-powered rifles even as his hooded adversaries are struck down, crumpling to the pavement with mortal gunshot wounds. Seconds later, he’s knocked flat with such force that his lungs ache for air. Assuming he’s been hit by sniper fire, Oliver lies still, waiting for his breath to return while anticipating the agony of having been shot with a high-velocity weapon.  But the pain doesn’t come. Flexing his fingers, he’s aware of small objects in his right hand – five pristine hollowpoint bullets aimed at him through a sniper’s scope  – and caught in mid-flight by The Flash who apparently slammed Oliver to the ground, out of harm’s way.

As he slowly sits up, Oliver notices that four sniper rifles are tied in a bundle, suspended from a nearby streetlight. Glancing around his perimeter, the SWAT team is nowhere to be seen. Now that his breathing has transitioned from gasping gulps, Oliver taps his com, asking Felicity, “Did you send your friend in red spandex to save my life?”

_Yep! And nope. It’s not spandex. There’s actually Dwarf Star alloy integrated into…_

“Felicity.”

_Yes?_

“Thank you.”

**> \---->|<\----<**

Sometime after two o’clock in the morning, Oliver discards the heavy leather tunic of the League, silently vowing to destroy it because of the cruel oppression it embodies. For the first time in three years, Yao Fei’s hooded vest remains as the only vigilante garb he possesses, leaving him back where he started in 2011 after finally coming home to Starling City. The Arrow is gone, his leathers and mission stripped away by the self-serving schemes of R’as al Ghul and Malcolm Merlyn, who conspired to exploit and control him. With depraved resolve to unravel his dual identity, The Demon very nearly claimed Oliver’s life and soul. In this hour of hard-won victory, Oliver’s convinced that he would be utterly lost without Felicity's love, the faithful allegiance of his team and the partnership forged with Nyssa al Ghul.

When he began his independent crusade to right his father’s wrongs, Oliver was a tormented loner, relying on deluded instincts that would doubtless have led to the loss of his humanity and an early grave. Yet, in the face of Oliver’s stubborn resistance, John Diggle and Felicity Smoak never gave up on him. Time and time again, they brought him back from the brink of self-destruction.  And God knows, Oliver hadn’t made it easy for them, constantly raising walls to isolate himself from their steady presence, their unflinching support, their far-sighted wisdom. Why they’d fought him, to stay by his side, lingers as a lasting mystery; he certainly doesn’t deserve such fierce loyalty.

Before Ra’s encroached on their lives – because they were _all_ affected by his evil meddling – Oliver believed he was indispensable to the team, the self-ordained leader in an all-consuming quest for justice. But recent events had painfully humbled and schooled him, demonstrating that the team manages quite well without him. When the formidable Arrow fell victim to tyranny, violently cut down by The Demon’s blade, his partners – the bodyguard and the geeky blonde – proved to be stone-cold badasses, ready and able to risk everything for his survival. 

Oliver’s reverie is interrupted by the buzzing of his phone, displaying the welcome image of Felicity’s lovely face.

“I’ll be there soon,” he answers her call. “I just stopped to change clothes.”

He detects her suppressed yawn before she murmurs, “No hurry. Ray wants to show me some new tech device he’s built.”

“Now?!?” he grumbles. “What’s wrong with that guy? Can’t he see how exhausted you are?”

“Be nice, Oliver,” she admonishes softly. “It’s the least I can do after all he’s done for us.”

Unpersuaded, he huffs and yanks on his leather jacket as he heads out the door, declaring, “I’ll be there in ten minutes so he’s got exactly nine to wrap up show and tell.”

A soft rain cloaks the city as Oliver cruises in the SUV toward the high-rise building that once bore the Queen family name. Wet streets reflect the flashing lights of emergency response vehicles providing support for the haz-mat teams coping with the bioweapons attack. The hospitals are organized bedlam as medical personnel continue to triage and transfer patients exhibiting signs of plague or reactions to the vaccine. But the only traces left from the vigilante-assassin war are the body bags filling the city morgue.

Bone-weary, Oliver craves a warm bed with Felicity safely tucked into his side. Compared to the city’s other sectors, it’s relatively quiet downtown as he turns onto Fifth Avenue, a ribbon of road connecting towering blocks of skyscrapers.  Skidding sideways, Oliver’s temporarily blinded by the flash of a tremendous explosion, accompanied by a concussive boom as the 23rd floor of Palmer Technologies is engulfed by a massive fireball.

**> \---->|<\----<**


	22. Oh, What I Wouldn't Give For A Holocaust Cloak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver races into the inferno, desperate to find and rescue Felicity from the massive explosion engulfing Palmer Technologies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because it's been awhile since my last update, I've decided to split the chapter I've been writing so I won't keep readers waiting any longer. This is an all-action chapter to resolve my last cliffhanger.  
> I truly value your opinions, so please take a few moments to share your feedback. And special thanks to those of you who do so faithfully.  
> The chapter title is inspired by this Princess Bride nugget:  
> Westley: Oh, what I wouldn't give for a holocaust cloak.  
> Inigo Montoya: There, we cannot help you.  
> Fezzik: Will this do?  
> Inigo Montoya: Where did you get that?  
> Fezzik: At Miracle Max's. It fits so nice, he said I could keep it.

Bits of burning debris, twisted metal and glass shards rain down onto Oliver, powered by fear and pure adrenaline, as he sprints toward the Palmer Tech employee entrance in the parking garage. Punching Felicity's passcode into the keypad, he presses “Floor 23," already doubting whether the building's fire response system will allow the elevator car to function. To his surprise, the elevator opens and smoothly lifts him past the sixteenth floor before jolting to an abrupt stop. Stepping up onto the arm rail, Oliver opens the service panel in the ceiling and climbs on top of the elevator car.

Peering up the broad, open shaft, his heart races as he sees flames and smoke a few levels above him. Gripping the car cables with his hands and powerful legs, Oliver shimmies up three floors,  before forcing the elevator doors open and rolling into a carpeted foyer. The blast has knocked out electrical power on this level, triggering flashing lights and alarms.

Oliver's certain that emergency responders are aware of the explosion. Hell, the fireball blew the lid off a giant skyscraper in the heart of downtown. However, he still expends a precious few seconds to notify 911 operators, using his cell phone. Unfortunately, he's aware emergency services are swamped in the aftermath of the bioweapon attacks, caring for civilian casualties from that disaster. This rescue falls to him, which suits Oliver just fine. No civil servant is getting between him and Felicity. Oliver’s advantage is that he knows every square foot of this building, including its structural skeleton. As a kid, he occasionally hid from his dad in the vast maze of ductwork where he kept a stash of comic books and junk food, which later evolved into skin magazines and beer.

Hitting the stairs, Oliver encounters a thick haze of smoke at the 21st story. Exiting the stairwell, he charges through a warren of offices being soaked by overhead sprinklers. Leaping onto a desk, Oliver touches the ceiling panels to check for heat. The metal slats are definitely hot to his touch. He's close enough to the fire now that he can hear the muffled roar of hungry flames devouring paper, walls and plastic. 

Oliver races into the executive washroom, jerking Egyptian cotton towels into the marble sink, dousing them thoroughly from the tap. Draping the wet towels behind his neck, he returns to the stairwell, ripping a fire extinguisher from its storage bracket as he runs passed it. When he reaches the 23rd flour, the metal door is scorching hot. He ties a wet towel over the lower half of his face and bumps the door’s release bar with his hip, entering the holocaust on the other side. Flames lick every surface, fanned by blustery winds from the gaping holes in the building's side and roof. Unfortunately, the ceiling has blown out, along with the embedded sprinkler system, designed to suppress a blaze like this one.

Oliver struggles to get his bearings in the intense heat. Walls and furniture that could have served as landmarks have been obliterated in the explosion. Remaining obstacles are blackened by smoke and twisted by the fiery blaze.

"Felicity!" he shouts repeatedly as he searches the burning debris, keeping his eyes cast down for any sign of movement near the floor. Oliver worries that he'll be unable to hear her above the fire's roar.

Activating the extinguisher, Oliver sprays short blasts in his immediate path as he slowly advances, stepping cautiously and praying the floor beneath him doesn't collapse. The heated, acrid air burns his throat and the heavy smoke pulls tears down his face. When Oliver tries to lift a metal partition blocking his path, it sears his hands, but he hangs on until he can pitch it out of his path.

He's nearly to the center of the demolished applied sciences laboratory when the floor gives way beneath him, sending Oliver crashing downward in an avalanche of unrecognizable charred rubble. Landing hard, he catches his breath, pausing to see if this floor will pancake farther down onto the levels below. But, the collapse seems to have stopped, at least for now. Shoving the layer of debris off of his chest, he stands, feeling a sharp slash of pain across his back, but is driven on by his consuming terror for Felicity. The challenge of finding her in this swirling inferno of smoke, flames and ash engulfs him. Oliver has no way of knowing where she was located when the explosion occurred. He's wasting precious time stumbling around searching for her while the fire spreads and the structure loses stability as the building’s framework becomes superheated.

Felicity can find anyone at anytime anywhere. If she was a comic book character, it would be her official superpower. But this is real life — _their real lives_ — and they deserve the chance to be together without facing mortal peril every fucking day, he rages in frustration. Losing her like this, after everything they've been through,  would be the cruelest twist of fate. How much more loss can he bear?

Not this. Not her. Not now.

Wreckage from the collapsed floor blocks the stairwell Oliver used earlier so he decides to find a corridor to the bank of stairs he remembers on the opposite side of this level. He's disoriented by the darkened destruction in every direction, uncertain which floor he now occupies. Opaque clouds of black smoke blind and choke him, forcing Oliver to backtrack. He kneels on the floor, overcome by a coughing fit, as a moving figure approaches from the murky interior.

Wiping the tears from his eyes, Oliver stares through the veil of smoke as a robot awkwardly struts toward him. The figure trips on debris, careening off course, and bashes into a wall.

Oliver hears a muffled "Oh, frack!" from inside the streamlined helmet.

"Felicity??"

The helmet comes up, revealing a pair of crystal blue eyes and dimpled smile that he recognizes even in this fiery corner of hell. A gloved hand raised by a hard-shelled arm waggles its fingers at him in a whimsical greeting.

Oliver lunges forward, tears of relief blending with those triggered by the caustic fumes. "Felicity," he gasps as they engage in the clumsy, grateful embrace between a desperate man and his strangely-encased girlfriend.

"I'm sorry," she says, tapping her armored chest, "I would so be kissing you right now, but I’m like an M&M with a hard candy shell. That's not candy..."

"Felicity," Oliver confesses, his voice breaking, "Are you okay? God, I thought I’d lost you."

“I’m perfectly fine, Oliver. The exosuit shielded me from the blast,” Felicity assures him, searching his cinder-streaked face before asking, "Ray? Have you seen him? I can't find him."

Oliver gives a solemn shake of his head, murmuring, "No sign yet. Was anyone else here? Cisco?"

"No, everyone had left. Except me and Ray," Felicity explains. Rising to stand, she jerkily tries to swivel around, vowing, "We have to find him."

An ominous reverberation above them gives scant warning as another floor fails, bombarding Oliver and Felicity with a world of flaming wreckage. Protected by her armored shell, Felicity is first to reappear amidst the rubble, completely unscathed. To her horror, Oliver's been covered by the latest cave-in.

Shouting his name, Felicity finally spots Oliver's head and shoulders at her knee-level, a few yards away, where he's pinned by a heavy fallen beam.

"Oh, Oliver!" She exclaims, dropping to his side. "Are you hurt?"

Struggling to pull free, Oliver grimaces in frustration. "Felicity, I'm stuck. You need to get out of here. Go for help."

Although she's unfamiliar with the ATOM suit's technology, she's discovering it offers all kinds of enabling features, including enhanced strength. Inside her helmet visor, a telemetry readout of her surroundings informs Felicity that the steel beam trapping Oliver's legs weighs more than four hundred pounds. Next to the weight data is a green symbol which she interprets as confirmation that she — and the exosuit — can lift. Felicity's next bold action proves she's right.

God, she loves the power of technology.

Despite Oliver's protests and stuttered disbelief, she effortlessly frees him and helps him regain his feet. As she does, Felicity quietly sings to herself, "'Cause I'm a woman! W-O-M-A-N, I'll say it again."

It's painfully obvious from Oliver's bent posture that his old knee injury has been aggravated. Felicity slips her shoulder beneath his and easily supports his weight as they seek solid footing in the ruins.

From a distance, sirens can be faintly heard, but Oliver and Felicity recognize that emergency responders won't reach them in time. Felicity's visor readout is a jumble of red warnings about the fire's dangerous heat levels, increasing lack of oxygen and build-up of toxic gases, to say nothing of the building's failing infrastructure.

"Stairs or window?" Felicity asks, concern furrowing her brow.

"We're at least eighteen stories up," Oliver answers as he weighs the risks of their grim choices: Remaining beneath the spreading flames or defying gravity by jumping from the skyscraper.

"I vote window," she pronounces with confidence, leading Oliver in that direction.

 "Felicity, I don't have any of my gear," he tells her, adding, "It's a straight drop out there."

Once they reach the floor-to-ceiling windows, it takes three kicks of Felicity's titanium-toed boot to fracture the industrial glass. After a few more strikes, she's opened an adequate hole for their escape. Oliver leans into the rush of cool night breeze, craving fresh air and relief from the hellish heat.

"Now, what?" he wonders aloud, focusing on the fire engines below, which resemble toys from this height.

"Don't. Look. Down," Felicity advises, drawing his eyes to hers. "Hold on to me tight."

Oliver arches an eyebrow, recalling the memory from two years ago, when their roles had been reversed and she had trusted him to keep her from falling from a perilous height. "In a very platonic way?" he deadpans.

"Hell, no," Felicity laughs as they leap together. From blazing holocaust into the welcoming, starry night sky.

**> \---->|<\----<**


	23. True Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver makes startling choices about his personal life and his future as The Arrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is: The concluding chapter of As You Wish, my fantasy of how Arrow's Season 3 could have been resolved if I ran The CW. I'm grateful to AO3 for providing the platform to host my writing and allowing me to share with other fans of Arrow (and The Princess Bride).  
> If you were kind enough to leave kudos or comments, please know you were an invaluable part of this effort and it would not have been completed without your generous encouragement.  
> And the inspiration for Chapter 23, which sums up Olicity beautifully, is this gem from Princess Bride:  
> Westley: Hear this now: I will always come for you.  
> Buttercup: But how can you be sure?  
> Westley: This is true love - you think this happens every day?

Flying. Not only had Felicity soared into the open sky with Oliver from a burning skyscraper, she'd experienced the incredible rush of superhuman strength. It was as thrilling as breaching a high-security firewall or writing a particularly powerful programming code. But the pure thrill of physical prowess gave her firsthand understanding of Oliver's fulfillment as a vigilante, even though his strength and agility are derived from pure human grit and athleticism. For the first time, Felicity experienced the visceral satisfaction of forceful might and, she had to admit, it was damned intoxicating.

"We flew, Oliver!" Felicity exclaims, her face flushed with excitement. "Without a plane. How awesome was that!"

"Well," Oliver interjects. "You flew. I just held on."

The hour is very late and they've finally made it home to The Loft. After prying herself from the confining exosuit, Felicity lasers her full attention on her exhausted, limping, burned, smoky,  ashen, blood-stained wreck of a boyfriend. A long, ugly gash snakes across his shoulder blades. His clothing is ruined, riddled with rips and holes, and reeking of smoke.

"I don't even know where to start," she sighs, as she studies his pitiful condition.

"Shower," Oliver mutters while painfully hobbling toward the stairs.

Felicity easily catches up to him and slips beneath his shoulder with an arm around his waist to bear as much of his weight as she can while keeping him steady. "Maybe I took off my badass suit too soon," Felicity muses as they slowly make the climb, one laboured step at a time.

Upon reaching the master bedroom, Felicity insists that Oliver sit and rest while she readies the shower for him. When she returns, he's stripped off his shirt and is making a valiant effort to shed his jeans, not an easy task with blistered hands and a stiff, swollen knee.

"Here, let me," Felicity coaxes as she kneels and gently removes his socks, followed by his pants. "Okay, that's better." She tilts her face up, giving him a tender smile, her blue eyes shadowed with sympathy.

Rising to stand between his knees, Felicity finally indulges in the long-delayed kiss she and Oliver have needed, have earned. It's a sweet communion of spirits, of hard-won victory, of relief and surrender and love. _True love._ It's a treasured kiss that will crystallize in their shared memories, a rare moment when threats have been silenced, weapons lain down, now that they're safe in a place of sweet sanctuary, to heal and simply live for one another in the moment.

"Felicity," Oliver murmurs, resting his forehead against hers, "Will you go away with me?"

Lifting her lashes, she leans slightly away to search his face, the depths of his steady gaze. "Go where, Oliver?"

A wistful smile lifts the corners of Oliver's lips as he answers. "I don't know. Far away from here. To a place where we can just be ourselves, lead normal lives without needing masks and hoods."

Caressing the side of his neck, Felicity tilts her head in a familiar, questioning fashion, asking, "Are you sure you're ready to leave Starling City, Oliver? There's still an ugly crew of bad guys in need of your _pointed_ attention."

He claims her lush lips again in a series of kisses because she's funny and remarkable and beautiful and brilliant and, by the grace of God, _his_. His Felicity. And he wants nothing more than to leave this damned place, with her hand in his, facing new horizons, falling asleep every night, unafraid, in each other's arms.

"Felicity, for eight years, I've fought. I've hunted. I've killed. And I've grieved for the ones I've buried," he confesses in sheer exhaustion, the harsh words rough in his throat. "I’m so tired of it all. So tired of the dread of losing you. When I saw that fireball tonight… And thought you had been…"

Felicity halts his dark thoughts by gently placing her fingers on his lips, murmuring, "Stop, Oliver. I'm sorry you were scared, but I was fine."

"This time," he objects, his troubled eyes linked to hers. "But what about the next? When you _aren't_ protected by a special suit? When I can't get to you? When our luck runs out? It only takes a second — a fucking heartbeat — for things to go wrong. Permanently, carved-on-a-gravestone wrong. Who will we have to bury next, Felicity?"

She can't argue with the naked pain in his expression or the gut-wrenching truth of Oliver's words. It's not a case of him looking through a glass darkly. It's Oliver reliving the vivid,  tragic losses in his tortured past, the precious blood senselessly and violently spilled. His father and mother. Tommy. Shado. Sara.

Felicity hears the weariness in his tone, the suffering layered within his words, a new willingness to surrender his identity as a crusader. Oliver has run before, abandoning his mission after Tommy's death when he retreated to Lian Yu. But, this is something more, a different twist on his usual reactions. Oliver's not just laying down his bow, he's including her, wanting her at his side in a shared search for an ordinary life. Together.

Crushing her in a fierce embrace, Oliver expels a ragged breath, whispering, "I just can't do this anymore."

"Then don't," Felicity answers quietly, resolutely. She turns her luminous face toward his, affirming, "Let's go. Find a new way of living. There are roads that can be ours to travel, dreams to chase, love to be made. We'll make this our time."

"Our time," Oliver repeats, savoring the promise of her words, the freedom he suddenly feels, unshackled at last from his self-imposed, lonely crusade as the emerald-hooded archer.

**> \---->|<\----<**

During the ensuing days, Felicity and Oliver allow time for him to heal while packing and putting their furnishings in storage. By week's end, they can no longer avoid the difficult task of informing their friends of their pivotal decision to leave Starling City. Oliver has already had a heart-to-heart conversation with Thea, whose response was understandably emotional, but eventually accepting, after he promised (with Felicity as witness) to contact his sister on a weekly basis.

After attending the memorial service for Ray Palmer, team Arrow returns to The Foundry, which in an ironic twist, has reverted to Thea, as the surviving heir of Malcolm Merlyn. The cavernous space has been stripped of its workout equipment, weaponry and Felicity's beloved computer systems. The glass cases, like a vacated Hall of Heroes, stand empty as ghostly reminders of their secret life.

Felicity gravitates to her happy place: the salmon ladder, one of the few remaining fixed points, where Oliver regularly worked his mojo, turning her into a drooling mess. And she can't bear to linger at her cannibalized computer station, once a thing of beauty and state-of-the-art command center.

Oliver's fingers graze the old oak work table where he hand-forged and ground his custom arrowheads, all seized in the SCPD raid. He'd been forced to abandon his suit and most of his signature gear so that Quentin Lance would be convinced this was indeed the lair of The Arrow — Malcolm Merlyn.  In truth, Oliver misses the hours he'd spent here, a headquarters he'd personally  planned and outfitted, the place where he'd trained and honed his body, where the voices of his faithful partners still echo.

Roy interrupts his reverie, saying, "It's kind of spooky down here. Now that everything's gone. Can't we just move back in? I mean, now that Thea's the landlord? Or, um, landlady?"

John Diggle, perched on a steel table, chuckles and shakes his head at Roy's suggestion. "As tempting as that sounds, we can't just go back to business as usual down here. The Foundry's been compromised. Permanently."

Thea, uncharacteristically quiet, exchanges a sad glance with her brother, too aware of the announcement that's coming.

"When I started this, my crusade to right my father's wrongs," Oliver begins, "I thought I should do it alone. I didn't want or need help. But, the truth of it is, I would not have survived the past three years without the people who had my back, even when I was... less than cooperative—"

Diggle winks at Felicity, asking, "You remember him that way? Uncooperative?"

"Our Oliver? Nope!" Felicity remarks with a dimpled grin, "He was sweet and cuddly. Like a kitten. In green leather and Armani suits."

Oliver's only response is a slightly-arched eyebrow and subtle eyeroll before he continues speaking.

"But if I hadn't survived, my crusade for justice would have lived on. Because of you. _Each of you_. Starling City isn't lacking for heroes. Which is why I no longer need to be one. R'as al Ghul saw to it that I can’t be The Arrow anymore even if I wanted. And I don't."

"What are you saying, man?" Diggle asks, frowning at Oliver's statement.

"I've decided—" Oliver begins, interrupted by Felicity clearing her throat. Dramatically.

Reaching for her hand, he draws Felicity into her rightful place at his side, correcting himself by saying, " _We've decided_ it's time to retire my mask and hood. We're leaving the city in good hands. Your hands. Because Felicity and I are going away."

"Where? For how long?" Roy blurts, a trace of panic in his voice as he absorbs the imminent departure of his mentors.

Felicity and Oliver look to one another, engaging in an intimate conversation without words. Smiling, they give a mutual shrug. With shining eyes, Felicity answers Roy, promising, "We'll send you postcards when we get there."

**> \---->|<\----<**

Oliver crams the last piece of Felicity's luggage into the trunk of the leased hybrid car.

"Oliver!" Felicity calls from the foyer. "Have you seen my tote?"

"Which one?" he yells back, across the hood of the vehicle.

Her head pops into view as she replies, "Oh, you know, the cute paisley one."

"Oh, _that_ one," Oliver mutters sarcastically to himself. "What in blue hell is paisley?"

Releasing a sigh, he opens the car door, peers inside and can make no sense of the jumble of assorted bags and cases and duffels and carryalls. He's learning that traveling with Felicity means she comes with a vast array of personal stuff in addition to all of her "absolutely necessary" tech gear.

Felicity's small hand stroking his back draws his attention out of the backseat as she asks, "Find it?"

"Um, no. Can you be more specific?" he questions.

She ducks beneath him to get a closer look inside the car. "Here it is!" Felicity exclaims happily, wiggling back out of the confined space while Oliver enjoys the view.

"What are you grinning at?" she quizzes, a tad suspicious as she eyes him.

"I'm just glad you found your bag," he fibs, lightly tapping the top of her nose with a finger.

"Did you just boop my nose?" Felicity asks, her amusement evident.

"I heard no booping," Oliver teases back in mock innocence.

"Clearly, it was an implied boop," she insists playfully.

"Hey, what's that?" Oliver inquires, his attention caught by a weathered leather pouch lying next to the essential paisley tote.

Felicity pivots and, noting the mystery pouch, retrieves it with a slight frown, remarking, "Not mine."  She passes it to Oliver, who turns the soft brown bag over in his hands. He unloops the toggle closure to lift the flap. Ever curious, Felicity presses closer, leaning on Oliver's arm to view the contents.

Oliver removes a piece of parchment, neatly folded and sealed with a scarlet blob of stamped wax, depicting a stylized dragon.

"You recognize the seal?" Felicity wonders, raising her eyes to his.

Oliver studies the design but shakes his head, breaking the hallmark and unfolding the brittle paper, inked in precise black, calligraphy lettering, before reading:

_You have given a ring, a blade and loyal service to The Demon's heir, now ascended to rule. Allow me to repay your friendship in kind with these slight tokens of appreciation._

_I remain in your debt,_

_Nyssa al Ghul, Queen of Nanda Parbat_

_Postscript: Felicity, remember_ — _A woman must always dress to kill._

Oliver and Felicity exchange a look of intrigue mixed with amusement before he lays the letter aside to extract a petite, ornate jewel box. Assuming it's intended for Felicity, he passes it into her hands. Releasing the tiny latch, she opens the case to reveal a heavy, silver ring, set with a large square-cut obsidian, its glassy surface glinting in the sunlight. Judging from its size and weight, it is obviously designed for a man's hand.

Pulling the ring from its satin bed, Felicity admires the fine engraving of dragons flanking the dark stone. Reaching for Oliver's hand, she lays it in his broad palm.

"Felicity, you know I can't wear jewelry," he protests. "It gets in the way of my —“

He stops short, catching himself before he can utter "bow."

With an understanding smile, Felicity folds his fingers over the ring, adding, "Well, that's completely up to you. Although I call dibs on the sweet jewel box."

Oliver deftly snatches the little silver ringbox from her hand, gives her a quick kiss and whispers seductively, "You can have it back when it's not empty."

Her eyes flaring in surprise, Felicity's lips form a tiny circle as she responds with a breathy, "Oh!"

Oliver slides the obsidian ring onto the third finger of his right hand and slips the jewel case into his pocket.

"So, I guess we can assume the next gift is yours?" Oliver supposes as he once again delves into the leather bag. He removes a neatly-bundled roll of brilliant-colored silks, wrapped with a delicate gold chain of tiny bells, which they immediately recognize as her veils from their first night together while in Nanda Parbat.

Felicity touches the beautiful silk fabric in his hand as the passionate memories wash over them. Oliver remembers the sensation of Felicity's soft satin skin that was barely concealed by the lustrous finery. He moves closer to her, crushing the silks between them as the little bells tinkle from his sudden impulsive movement.

"Felicity," he groans, hungrily seeking her lips.

"Ow," she says, interrupting the sensuous moment. "Something hard. It's poking me. OH! Not you. If you're hard. Because that would be fine. Even wonderful. Not making me say ow. Like I am saying ow... now."

With a frustrated sigh, Oliver changes gears, asking, "Felicity? What the —"

Raising the roll of silks to his eyeline, she points to it, explaining, "This. It poked me."

Taking the bundle, Felicity turns to unwrap the gold chain and silk veils on the hood of the car, the material shining and resplendent in the sunshine.

"Well, no wonder," Oliver comments as she starts to giggle.

Concealed at the center of the silky folds lies a finely-made scabbard sheathing a petite dagger, wickedly sharp, with a ruby and pearl-crusted handle.

"Dress to kill, indeed," Felicity quips, tracing her fingers across the jeweled hilt. She notices silk ribbons securely stitched to the small scabbard. "So are these to tie the sheath to your arm?"

Oliver carefully takes the weapon from Felicity and sets it safely back in the nest of veils on the car. "Felicity, it goes here," he murmurs, intimately running his hand up her flared skirt, along the inside of her upper thigh while closing the space between them. Pressed against the car door, she wraps a long bare leg behind his muscled calf, lifting her face for a heated kiss as he threads his fingers through her hair. Despite the fact they're outside in broad daylight, Oliver's hands roam over — and under — her as it becomes obvious they need to take this inside, behind closed, locked doors.

"Maybe... we can... leave tomorrow," Felicity pants against Oliver's throat.

In reply, Oliver sweeps her off her heels, lifting her into his arms and purposely striding toward The Loft. A few minutes later, he dashes back out to the car, tosses the dagger into the front seat, gathers the veils and gold chains in his hand and sprints back to the naked girl who's fantasizing about them.

**> \---->|<\----<**

Oliver cooks an elaborate breakfast for Felicity and Thea the next morning. It's a fun, relaxed meal, giving them an opportunity to enjoy one another's sense of humor and company before they will have to say goodbye. Felicity sweetens their departure by insisting that Thea join them when they arrive in Tuscany, one of few destinations they've chosen to visit. 

It's still going to be a bittersweet separation for Oliver and Thea, who have grown so close in recent months, having healed their damaged relationship after years of isolation and grief. Having endured extreme peril and stress during the war with R'as al Ghul, neither takes their sibling for granted, especially after the brutal loss of their parents. As survivors, they’re stronger for their trials and forever bound by the unbreakable love of home and family as their foundation.

Thea clings moments longer to her big brother as they share farewell hugs, but she can't deny the change in him, the light-hearted demeanor showing that he's once again the adventurous, affectionate Oliver who teased and protected her throughout childhood. It's easier to let him go, recognizing and being grateful for the happiness he's found as he surrenders his vigilante role and chooses a future with Felicity.

Privately, Thea's excited about the next chance she may get to be in action, armed with a mask and bow. After all, the city still needs its heroes. But she's not about to share those plans with Ollie because he doesn't need that particular concern muddying his vacation. And, she's certain her worry-wart brother won't support her new ambition to hit the streets with Diggle and Roy.

**> \---->|<\----<**

It's surreal for Oliver, cruising away from Starling City without a care, with a perky Felicity sipping her Chile mocha frappuccino at his side, babbling about the winery tour they could take through California. Followed by her enthusiastic suggestion that they snorkel the coral reefs, leading to an analysis of the risks of shark attack.

"What about you, Oliver?" she asks, linking her hand with his on his thigh.

"What about me?" he responds, his thumb caressing her knuckles as he drives.

"You still haven't said where _you'd_ like to go," Felicity answers. "What place would make you happy?"

Squeezing her hand, Oliver pauses before replying, feeling her loving anticipation as she watches his smile, so open and honest, grow.

"Felicity, I'm already there."

**> \---->|<\----<**


End file.
